Girl Town
by BelleDean
Summary: Horrible bosses, backstabbing interns, shoebox size apartments & a slew of slutty men suffering from commitment phobia—life in the city can be tough for a girl. But what happens when looking for the right things in life goes wrong?
1. Chapter 1

**iambeagle served as cheerleader & proofreader. thank you!**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.**

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><p>1. December 31, 2011 at 8:30 PM<p>

_In a small cubicle at the Volturi Literary Agency LLC in New York City ..._

"When are you getting out of the office? It's past eight already!" Rose whines to me on the phone. It's also a Saturday, not to mention New Year's Eve. Needless to say I'm not here by choice.

"I don't know. Heidi wants me to finish something up." I glance in the direction of Heidi's open office door. She's on the phone, chatting loudly about the renovation of her apartment. In other words: I doubt it's business. "Trust me, I wanna get out of here pretty badly."

"Doesn't the bitch have anywhere to be?"

"Apparently not, and P.S. she's here," I whisper. Heidi does have the nasty habit of listening in on my conversations. I've heard her picking up my line occasionally and I've told Rose about it.

"Why are you whispering? I'm sure she can't hear me," Rose informs me loudly.

Unfortunately, Rose does have the memory of a goldfish.

"Listen, I can't talk right now. I'll call you back when I'm done."

"I don't understand. I'm sure her agency will not collapse if her lowly assistant leaves at nine o'clock on New Year's Eve." I'm pretty sure she's right. As things stand however, being right is not what matters here.

Instead, I reply, "Shut up. I can't afford to get fired. I'm broke-"

"Not again. I'm not listening anymore. I skipped lunch, ate Alice's left over Chinese take-out from three nights ago and have exactly ten dollars left until the next paycheck. So really, B? You think you have it bad?"

"Okay, you win, Rose."

I've a grand total of fifty dollars left for the next four days. It's a record for me. The first month in a while during which I didn't have to call my dad for extra money.

"Call me as soon as you have a clue when you can leave. I got us on the guest list to Jane's party. We can meet near the..."

Jane interns together with Rose for Riley Biers, _the _new up-and-coming designer du jour. I've only met Jane once when I picked up Rose from work. She has perfect hair, perfect posture and a perfect Chanel bag—enough reasons for me to hate her.

"Why on earth are we going to that party? I thought we'd agreed to go to Sam's bar? And you hate Jane!"

Jane is what you'd call a patronage-intern. Jane's mom is a buyer for Barneys. Nearly every designer aims to please her. While Rose, with a degree in fashion design, makes coffee and runs errands, Jane, who majored in art history, gets to attend fashion shows and photo shoots with him. Needless to explain why Rose hates her.

"Yeah, I do … but … ugh, please? Free booze because you're hooking up with bartender is nice and all … but, really? We hang out at that place every week. It's a dive and that bartender is one of your more dubious choices as far as men go."

"His name is Jake and I like him!" I start defending him. "And at least I'm not dating someone who lives with his parents on Long Island."

"You're _dating_ him?" I can practically _see_ Rose raising her eyebrows, the look of disgust on her face.

"Well …" I shouldn't have put that label on it. "Maybe?" I hedge.

"Why? The smell of stale beer alone makes my stomach turn sour. Eeew."

"Shut up. He usually showers after his shift."

"He's a fucking bartender. Need I say more? Aim higher, B."

"This coming from the person whose last boyfriend was unemployed."

"I admit, Roysten was a loser. Never mind that. I don't wanna spend New Years Eve single _and _without prospects at a dingy bar. Jane's party is at The Standard. Food, top shelf booze, and we won't have to pay for anything."

"Fine," I agree the minute she mentions food.

"Great! I'll get ready and meet you in front. Which reminds me, can I borrow your Marc Jacobs pumps?" I hate when Rose traps me into sartorial borrowing on the phone. I'm too far away to claim that I can't find them. As we speak, she's probably wearing them already. It's the only decent pair of shoes I own.

"They are suede and it might rain tonight." I make a pathetic attempt to dissuade her. Outright saying "no" would be awkward. Plus, she'll never loan me anything from her closet again.

"No, it's not. Besides, they are four seasons old. Get over it. It's only one block to the subway anyway." I have nothing left to argue. "We should get there by at least ten thirty. You have something to change into at the office?"

"Yeah." I eye the black dress that's hanging on the corner of my cubical wall.

"Bella. I need you in here!" I hear Heidi yell.

"I'll call you later," I tell Rose and hang up.

"Now please!" Heidi adds and I rush to her office door, a mere four feet away.

"Yes, Heidi. How can I help you?" Heidi is dressed in a nice, gray, sequined evening dress that fits her unfortunately a bit too snugly, pinching the rolls around her muffin top. She's putting on her heels as I stand in the door.

"I need you to revise this press release and then you can go," she says pushing a stack of papers on her desk in my direction.

I can't remember how or when it happened during my three year tenure with Heidi, but somehow I got stuck writing a first draft of all our press releases and she "refines" them by marking up a printed out version in her chickenscrawl.

"Remember to turn the lights off before you leave," Heidi says, stepping out of the front door and leaving me behind in the dark abyss of her two-room office.

Two hours and exactly twelve minutes—that's how long this business of revising the press release takes me. I duly note that the release isn't due until the fifth of January when I e-mail her the corrected version.

Exactly one minute later, I'm changing into the black mini-dress. Shamefully, I have a hard time closing the side-zipper and the dress rides up, making it practically a micro-mini dress.

No wonder. My lunches since Thanksgiving have consisted of cookies, chocolate and cakes that arrived for Heidi as holiday gifts from various people. She never ate them herself and looked kind of pleased when I did. Now I know why.

"God damn it!" Pull the zipper up with force and rip the tab off in the process. I'm dressed all right, but how the hell will I undress?

On closer inspection in the mirror, I look almost as squeezed in as Heidi. Tightly packaged like a sausage in its casing.

Screw it. There's no time to waste and no other clothing options to chose from, so I sprint out of the office.

_New Year's Eve Party here I come._

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading.<br>**

**Happy New Year!  
><strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**The story will consist of short & sweet chapters. iambeagle does her best to spot typos, but since I'm the Queen of Typos, some might creep in. **

**I'll update as fast as my daytime job, which pays the bills, allows me to.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>2. December 31, 2011 at 11:00PM<p>

_At the corner of 43__rd__ Street and 6__th__ Avenue._

"Rose, are you at the party? Can you make sure to put me on the guest list?" I ask the minute she picks up, scampering out of the office building.

"No! The fucking F train didn't come for forever. I'm just getting off the train. I'll meet you in front."

~o0o~

"Bella!" Rose yells when I finally get there. She's standing in my black suede pumps in front of the hotel.

"Hey. Sorry, Heidi had me fix a press release that wasn't even due," I tell her, a little out of breath with the seams of my dress nearly popping.

Rose shrugs her shoulders and tosses her cigarette on the ground. "Whatever. I just got here a minute ago. Let's go."

We make it to the elevator bank where a six foot five tall guy in a black pinstripe suit with an earpiece stops us.

"Where are you headed to, ladies?"

"Jane Douleur's party. We are on the guest list," Rose says, smiling and pushing her blonde curls over her shoulder.

He doesn't seem to care and moves to the reception desk where he grabs a board with a bunch of papers on it—presumably the guest lists for various parties.

"Rosalie Hale, plus one." Rose unzips her jacket, revealing Alice's red dress.

Alice is our roommate and barely five feet tall. Rose is almost six feet tall. The dress barely covers her ass at all.

Two girls in little sparkly dresses that fit them perfectly, carrying small clutches and wearing cute coats, strut right past us. Apparently the guest list isn't a mandatory thing for everyone—it's just for people who look like they don't belong.

Read: people dressed in puffy coats designed to keep you warm, carrying huge bags and wearing dresses two sizes too small.

On closer inspection, I notice that Rose's roots are showing and my ends could definitely use a trim.

The security guy flips some pages back and forth, then talks into the mic attached to his earpiece.

"Yes … yes... yes, the Douleur party. Hale … okay, please double check for me." He stares off into the distance as if we don't exist. "Mmmh, yes. Above capacity … okay," he murmurs before finally chancing a glance in our direction.

"I'm terribly sorry, ladies, for keeping you waiting. You were taken off the guest list when the party reached capacity." A small, apologetic smile plays on his lips.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Rose asks in a pleading voice, batting her eyelashes for emphasis. Then we both stare at him, giving him our best version of puppy eyes in a futile attempt to sway his decision our way.

The guy straightens his shoulders and his smile disappears. "No. I'm terribly sorry. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Couldn't we just wait at the bar until someone leaves?" I swear Rose just pushed out her chest.

"We are only hosting private events tonight," he says with a strong emphasis on the word _private_.

Rose picks up her phone and calls Jane who, of course, doesn't pick up. She looks like she's about to cry and then actually goes ahead and spills some tears.

It doesn't work. The only effect it has is that her mascara is now running down her cheeks. At that point, I decide the battle has been lost. It's time to retreat, and I'm relieved when I see Jake's number flash on the screen of my phone.

"Hey," I answer quickly.

"Hey, Bells. Is my favorite pretty girl coming tonight or are you skipping out on me?"

He's such a cheeseball and sometimes that does bother me.

I glance at Rose who is drying her crocodile tears with a baby wipe she's fingered out of her giant black pleather bag. She shrugs her shoulders—her way of saying she's resigned herself to spend the night single and in Brooklyn.

"No, I'm coming. I just had to work late. Getting on the train shortly."

"I tell you what, why don't you hop in a cab. Just give me a call when you get here and I'll take care of it."

"That's so sweet of you," I coo.

"Well, I'm a sweet guy."

"Okay. I'll see you then." I hang up the phone and turn to Rose. The tears are gone and so is her eye makeup. The expression on her face points towards annoyed.

"Come. Let's see whether we can grab a cab to Sam's. Jake offered to pay for it, " I say, tugging her by her elbow out of the hotel lobby. When I turn to look back, big black suit guy gives me a stern look that makes me think he might lack the ability to feel compassion for any living creature, including puppies, kittens and small children.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos, but since I'm the Queen of Typos, some might creep in. **

**I'll update as fast as my daytime job, which pays the bills, allows me to.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

><p>3. December 31, 2011 at 11:40 PM<p>

_At the corner of West 14__th__ Street and Hudson._

Turns out getting a cab shortly before midnight on New Years Eve is easier said than done. At least twenty other people are on the prowl for one, too.

"Hey, we were here before you!" Rose yells when a guy wearing too much make-up and very tight pants jumps three feet ahead of us on the street and steals a cab right from under our nose.

"Not my problem, girlfriend," he yells, as he closes the door.

"Girlfriend my ass," Rose mumbles.

After twenty minutes, we finally score a gypsy cab.

"How much to Park Slope, Brooklyn?" I ask the driver through the rolled down window.

"Thirty Dollars, Miss," he replies in his heavily accented nasal voice.

"How about twenty?"

The driver, a middle-aged guy, has a greasy black mustache twirled up into pointy tips on both sides of his face, making him look like a circus director. The only thing missing to complete the look is a red jacket with gold buttons. Instead he wears a white dress shirt with a yellow stain on the breast pocket.

"Thirty Dollars, Miss," he replies undeterred.

"Twenty-five," I try again.

"Thirty Dollars, Miss."

"Oh, come on!" I whine. "We can take the bridge instead of the tunnel, so you won't have to include the toll."

"Thirty Dollars and no tunnel."

"Asshole," I say under my breath, but I think he's heard me.

"Why do you care?" Rose snaps, opening the cab door with a huff and ending my attempt to haggle. "I thought Jake's paying?"

"Fine. You're right." I sigh and follow her lead. The inside of the car smells like air-freshener and strangely—bouillon cubes. The seats are worn out and the whole car squeaks every time it hits a bump. It has obviously seen better days.

"Fuck. We should have taken the subway," I say when it's nearing twelve and we haven't even crossed the bridge yet.

"God, I hate Jane!" Rose whines.

"I'm sorry I was so late," I admit.

"It's not your fault. Alice was in the bathroom for forever getting ready for that stupid dinner party at James' house. You know," she rolls her eyes, "the one she couldn't take anybody along to?" I nod and roll my eyes in agreement. Neither of us has taking a liking to Alice's latest boyfriend. James comes across as kind of uptight, wearing clothes that look like his mom ordered them for him from an Eddie Bauer catalog and, to my absolute horror, sandals until the end of fall. "And then the train didn't come, so whatever. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. I have to see Jane's stupid face on Monday anyway. Bitch!"

When we cross the Brooklyn Bridge, the clock strikes midnight.

"Well, looks like Alice's the only one properly celebrating the New Year," I comment. "Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year," Rose says and we hug briefly. "I need a drink, like _now!_Step on the gas, do you hear me?" She bangs on the plastic partition. Mustache man offers a mild mannered smile in return.

When we finally arrive in front of Sam's, it's 12:15 PM. I call Jake but he doesn't pick up. I try once, twice … no answer.

"I'll be back in a minute," I tell our driver and run toward the door of the bar.

"Jake?" I shout into the stuffed to the brim room when I don't spot him behind the bar. I can't hear my own voice over the music, so I call his number again. The call goes straight to voice mail this time. I move three steps further into the place, but it's so crowded that I don't stand a chance finding him, at least not as quickly as I need to.

"Fuck." I step back into the cold air, staring at my phone, crossing my fingers that he calls back immediately.

Walking across the sidewalk back to the car, I send him a text message.

"Shit!" I yell when I've stepped into something soft, nearly slipping, falling on my ass, and dropping my phone in the process. "Fuck."

"Jeez," Rose says, chuckling and still sitting in the warm car. "Where's Jake?"

"He doesn't pick up. And I think I just stepped into dog shit." In haste, I try to wipe the soles of my boots clean against the curb. The streetlight above me is broken, so it's dark and I can't see whether I'm doing an adequate job or not.

Rose laughs louder, moving out of the car. "Isn't it a sign of good luck or something?"

"Right."

"Thirty Dollars, Miss," Mustache man reminds me.

"Do you have any cash?" Rose asks.

"Yeah." Grudgingly, I pay the cab fare, which leaves me with twenty Dollars.

"Let's go. At least the drinks are for free," I say, as Rose opens the door and walks inside.

"The unreliable douche better make the drinks extra strong."

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos, but since I'm the Queen of Typos, some might creep in. **

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>4. January 1, 2012 at 12:30 AM<p>

_At a bar with dirty windows on 5__th__ Avenue in Brooklyn._

"Can we get two vodka cranberries, please?" Rose shouts over the music at Kate, the other bartender.

"Where's Jake?" I ask, watching her mix our drinks.

"I have no idea. Trust me, I'd love to know." She looks stressed out. There are about twenty other people screaming for drinks and she's the only one manning the bar. "You owe me twenty," Kate says, pushing our drinks forward.

"What?" I pretend I haven't heard her.

"For the drinks." Kate points at the two glasses filled with pink liquid before opening up two bottles of Brooklyn Lager.

"Aren't they usually five?"

"Come on, what do you expect? Sam hiked up the prices. It's New Year's."

"Can you just wait until I find Jake?"

"I don't mean to be rude, Bella, but Jake's best buddies with Sam. I can't do this shit. The till will come out low and I'll get blamed." She shoots me an apologetic smile.

Rose gasps and then whispers, "Typical. Wait till I find that douche ..."

"This doesn't help." I give her a hard-nosed look. "Can we split the tab?"

She looks at me like I'm crazy. I'm about to push the drinks back and tell Kate to keep them, when I hear someone behind me say, "I got it."

"Thanks," Rose chirps, not missing a beat, and takes her drink before I can process what just happened.

"Yes, thank you," I say, grabbing mine, as long fingers push a twenty and some change over the counter.

I turn around to see who was nice enough to save me from being flat broke for the rest of the weekend and all I see at first is a cream colored thermal shirt. When I glance up, I notice a disheveled mane and way too much facial hair.

"Let's look for Jake, so I can chew him a new one," Rose says, pulling me away from the bar with a jolt, so that I almost spill my drink and leaving the guy who just paid for it behind.

"He looks like a Yeti. I hope he didn't think we'd stick around to chat. Yuk. I don't get what goes through guys' heads when they grow a beard like that," Rose yaps loudly, leaning on my shoulder to make sure I hear her over the music.

It feels impolite to be just waltzing off like that, but being polite isn't Rose's thing and I know she'd be really pissed if I insist on staying for even a minute. Plus, I'm also dying to find Jake, if only to get the cab fare back and another drink.

We stumble around the bar for a while. Jake is nowhere in sight.

Instead we run into Emmett, who lives downstairs from us.

"Have you seen Jake?" I ask.

"Yeah. He's around somewhere," he says, staring off into the distance, seemingly avoiding eye contact with me.

"How long ago did you see him?" I pester him.

"I don't know …" he mumbles, still not looking at me. I get the suspicion he's hiding something. "So Rose, what are you doing next weekend?"

"Why?" Rose is checking her phone, not even looking up.

"Why?" He shakes his head. "That's your response? Really?" His cheeks puff up.

"Yeah. What's your problem?" she asks, keeping her focus on the phone.

"Nothing. I was going to invite you to our dinner party next weekend, but never mind now." Emmett shrugs his shoulders and moves to walk away—clearly miffed that Rose isn't more excited about his invite. "Excuse me," he says, as he pushes past some girls to get away from us.

"What's crawled up his ass?" Rose asks me, glancing up from her phone. "Is he annoyed that I didn't get all excited about his potluck junk food feast or did he lose one of his puppies again?"

Rose loves to make fun of Emmett's chosen profession. Professional Dog Walker it reads on his card. When he lost one of his dogs last summer, a miniature pincher who wiggled himself out of his harness leash, Emmett didn't eat or sleep until Alice found the dog three days later at the corner bodega, sleeping on a pile of newspapers.

I'm pretty certain none of his dogs have gotten lost recently and I have no idea why he was so easily upset by Rose's normal brusqueness, so I shrug one shoulder and lean against the door behind me.

The door suddenly gives in and I stumble backwards.

"Shit." I fall flat on my ass this time, unable to regain my balance.

Rose just stares past me, as I squeal in pain. The floor is cold, dirty and really hard.

"Some help, please?" I reach my hand out to Rose. My butt hurts. "I think I broke my tailbone."

"Holy shit …" Suddenly, Rose moves into action, pulling me up swiftly before bellowing out the instruction, "Whatever you do, don't fucking turn around."

Of course I do so immediately.

Behind me, in what appears to be the storage room, I see a half naked girl with long blonde hair sitting on a stack of booze boxes. Jake is standing next to her, busy pulling up his pants. His hair, usually held together in a tail, is loose and has fallen around his face, effectively hiding it from my view.

"What the fuck, Jake!" I wail and before Rose can pull me back, I rush forward. "You are such a fucking asshole! You couldn't even wait to do this somewhere else when you knew I was coming here."

I should feel hurt and betrayed, but right now all I feel is rage.

"Bells. You're still my favorite girl," he says with a smirk on his face that I want to wipe right off.

"Are you kidding me?" I shout. He attempts to grab my shoulders, but I step back. The girl has successfully pulled her t-shirt back on and stares at me with a dumb expression on her face.

"You're such a douchebag. And for the record, you owe us cab fare." Rose steps in and holds out her hand.

Jake turns red and starts digging through the pockets of his old jeans.

To my amazement, he hands her a twenty.

"The cab was forty Dollars." Rose taps her foot impatiently.

I think Jake is about to protest, but then he just hands her another twenty.

Rose tries pulling me away. "Bella, let's go."

"Fine." I huff and toss my hair over my shoulder. "We're done," I say to Jake, but don't move.

I don't know what else to do, but feel the urge to do something. Slapping him in the face seems too dramatic, so without much thought I stomp hard on Jake's foot. He's wearing sneakers and cringes briefly.

"Shit, Bells! What did you do that for?"

Not satisfied with the amount of damage I've caused, but unsure what else I can do, I turn around and start walking out the room. Near the door, a crowd has formed that quickly disperses, as I get closer.

Before Rose can close the door and end the show for good, Jake, the snake, is trying to continue what we just interrupted, trying to stick his tongue down blondie's throat and fiddling with her shirt again.

"Jake, nooo," she whines, sitting on top of a box of Baileys, and pushes him away before he can drop his pants again. "It smells like poo in here."

Rose shoots a glance at my boots and starts laughing.

"Let's go home." Rose nods her head in the direction of the exit. "New Year's Eve always sucks. It's overrated if you ask me."

"You're right." I sigh and follow her. Some people are staring at us as we exit the bar.

"Oh my God. How many people do you think heard me?" I ask as we walk home.

"I don't know, but the people near the door definitely saw and heard," Rose answers laughing, setting my cheeks ablaze.

"Great." The rage I felt ten minutes ago has evaporated. Humiliation is all that's left.

"Who cares? The place is full of wannabes … people who think they're cool when they're really not."

"You're right," I say, but don't believe it.

"I know. I always am." Rose grins at me.

"Oh, shut up." I poke her with my elbow.

At home, Rose unzips my dress for me with the aid of a safety pin.

"Cheers," Rose says, clinking her shot glass filled with stale red wine against mine as we sit in the kitchen dressed in our pajamas.

"Cheers. To a shitty beginning."

"You can't toast to that."

"Bite me." I take a sip of the wine. It tastes pretty bad.

"To happy endings." Rose raises her glass.

"Cheers to that." I raise mine and we both down the rest of the wine in one shot.

By two o'clock we switch the lights off and fall into our beds.

I should have thanked Yeti-man properly, I think, before I fall asleep.

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><p><strong>So … what do you think? Is New Year's Eve overrated? I tend to think so.<strong>

**Any good stories about horrible parties, bad break-ups and dog shit? Please share! I'm a sucker for those.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos, but since I'm the Queen of Typos, some might creep in. **

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

><p>5. January 1, 2012 at 10:00 AM.<p>

_At home_

When I walk into our kitchen, Rose and Alice are already sitting on the kitchen counter, drinking coffee.

"Morning." I move past them in auto-mode straight to the coffee machine, barely registering the temperature in our apartment is below the comfort zone, except maybe for the chill in my feet. I search for a cup and end up washing one I find in the sink.

"It's fucking freezing in here," I complain when I finally pour my coffee.

"The boiler broke. The super says it will take a while until he gets someone over here to fix it. He said something about the landlord being a stingy motherfucker and no holiday pay," Alice says.

"Nobody has heat in this building?"

"Yes, Einstein," Rose snaps.

"Why do we pay rent?" I ask, half-serious.

"Yeah, I know right?" Rose agrees.

"I think we should get a rent deduction for it. This is nuts."

"Let's give 'em some time. It's Sunday after all." Alice, the voice of reason in our trio, stops us.

"You don't look so good, Al. Wild party, huh?" I comment after I've had my first sip of java and a chance to examine her appearance. She looks like shit. Her make up is smeared, her hair sticking wildly in all directions and there's a running in the stocking she's obviously forgot to take off last night.

"Shittiest New Year's Eve ever." She wipes a tear away.

"She just got home," Rose adds.

"Shit. I'm sorry. What happened, Al?" I rub her arm and she really starts crying.

"James broke up with her," Rose explains.

"What a fucking -"

"Asshole!" we all say in unison.

"What happened? He decided while attending a party with you that this was as good a time as any to break up?"

"I guess so," Alice chokes out. "Though he did wait past midnight to do it."

"That's so sweet of him," Rose says.

"It made it actually worse." Snot is running out of Alice's nose and I hand her a kitchen paper towel. She obviously didn't catch on to Rose's sarcasm. "That stupid party was all the way out in Westchester and there were not trains running back to the city until five o'clock in the morning."

"Fuck. I'm sorry," I tell her.

"And worst of all, I really liked him. I mean he was so nice and considerate. He'd never let me carry a heavy bag, always opened the door for me … I can't believe he'd do this to me!" More tears stream down Alice's face.

"Why exactly did he break up with you?" I ask.

"He's moving back to Ohio. He can't find a job here."

"Oh, dear. Maybe he's just in the wrong place in his life right now."

Rose makes a loud snorting sound. "Ha! You haven't heard the rest of it."

Alice is crying too much to talk, so Rose gives me the scoop.

"He told her long distance relationships never really work for _him_, so for _her sake_, he thought it was just best to give her a clean break." Rose rolls her eyes to emphasize how utterly ridiculous she finds his excuse. "But really the icing on the cake's that he borrowed two hundred dollars from her last week and now told her he'll have to send her a money order from Ohio to pay her back. You know you can wait until the cows come home until you see that money again!"

Rose pokes Alice with her elbow. "Stop crying. He's not worth it."

Alice hiccups and then blows her nose again.

"Rose is right," I add, patting her shoulder gingerly, thanking my lucky stars that at least I didn't really think Jake and I were going to last, otherwise last night might have really been a bummer.

"Screw it! I'm over him," Alice suddenly announces with determination, wiping her last tears away with her midget hands and smearing some glitter around her cheek in the process.

"Our night wasn't much better," I offer. "Well, mine kind of really sucked."

"Yeah, I heard," Alice says, chuckling. "Jake, huh? What a player."

"Yeah, you can say that out loud. The minute we walked out of the room he was trying to get between her legs again. Gross. I can't believe I had sex with that guy."

"I sure hope you used condoms," Rose says dryly while inspecting a hangnail.

"Yeah, he always had a couple with him. I guess that should have told me something," I ponder and start feeling nauseated. "I don't wanna talk about it anymore." I shudder when I think about the possibilities. "I think I'm going to take a shower."

"Not a good idea," Alice says, looking at me with her raccoon eyes. "No hot water either." She shakes her head.

"Fuck. We should move."

"Where to?" Rose points out.

"Yeah, we're not going to find anything cheaper and I don't wanna live in the ass-end of Queens," Alice pipes up, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "And it's not that we'd be able to afford a two or three bedroom either."

"Yeah, that be soo not coool!" I laugh. "Like, Nebraska and Missouri are so much cooler," I tease. Out of the three of us, I'm the only one born and bread here and their snobbery sometimes gets to me.

"That why we don't live there anymore," Rose quips, pulling a nail file out of out kitchen drawer. "Beside, let me tell you, what's out there in terms of available apartments is way worse than where we're living now."

Rose searched for a different apartment last summer when she was dating Roysten and they were thinking about moving in together, only to return every night looking more tired and depressed. When they finally broke up, her only comment was, "Well, at least I can stop browsing the rental ads now and viewing shitholes at the end of the world."

I stomp to the bedroom to find some socks, a sweater and a coat and dress in layers to prevent turning into a Popsicle.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading. :) I will try to update soon and I promise the Yeti-man will soon make another appearance. <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos, but since I'm the Queen of Typos, some might creep in. **

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>6. January 1, 2012 around 4:00PM.<p>

_At home after a shower at the local Y_

"_This_can't go on like this," Alice says with shivering, blue lips.

"Yeah, no shit," I agree.

We're hovering near the gas stove in the kitchen, the only moderately warm place in the apartment, drinking vodka with Bloody Mary mix (passed its due date, but tasting tolerable) and eating oyster crackers. Calling the drinks Bloody Marys would be blasphemy, according to Rose, since there's nothing fresh in our glasses.

"We should come up with some new rules for 2012 to improve our situation," Alice adds.

"You mean New Year's resolutions no one ever keeps?" I mock her.

"No. They'll be strict rules … laws, if you wanna call 'em that, and we'll all have to abide by them. Well, anybody who lives here," Alice continues undeterred with a serious expression on her face.

"Laws, huh? What's the penalty if we break 'em?" Rose is chuckling already.

"Two Dollars into the savings pool for each infraction." Alice gets up and fishes for the red plastic piggy bank she got for opening up a checking account last year and that had been collecting dust on top of our fridge ever since. "If we break 'em at lot, we should be better off by the end of the year -"

"What do you mean better off?" I'm laughing now too. What she says doesn't make sense to me. It doesn't help her case that Alice looks ridiculous, wearing Rose's coat that's way too big and my old, rain-damaged Uggs, waiving the red pig in the air.

"You didn't let me finish … so where was I? Yes, if we break our new rules a lot, we should have enough money to consider moving."

"Consider—being the keyword," Rose says.

"Shut up. Don't be a negative Nancy," Alice admonishes her. "We have to be hopeful. So, what do we want to accomplish in the New Year?"

"I need to find another job or get a raise," I announce when my BlackBerry buzzes with three new emails from Heidi. Apparently she's not suffering from a hangover this year. "For the twenty-three-thousand she pays me a year, this is crazy."

"You need to find a career," Rose says.

"I know what I want to do. I want to be literary agent and I work for one. I think I have that covered," I retort.

"You both need to find careers. You work for a designer who has you run errands," Alice points at Rose with the red pig before continuing with her oddly sage speech, "and you work for an agent who barely has more than three clients. To be frank, I'm not even sure how she affords you. Never mind that she just uses you like she would a secretary, only the secretary would possibly demand more money. Same goes for me of course. Working at Felix's is a waste of my time and talent."

Alice has a degree in interior design and works in a fabric store. Sometimes the owner lets her design some curtains for clients who need help, but usually she just cuts yards of fabric.

"She does get lots of manuscripts. She just never reads them," I defend my indefensible position with Heidi.

"And what do you mean, I run errands? Someone needs to make sure the little stuff gets done. At least I'm working for an actual designer," Rose adds, clearly feeling rubbed the wrong the way too, narrowing her eyes on Alice.

Rose and I both have our arms crossed our chest defensively, staring at Alice. She's onto something though. Every time I ask Heidi for an increase of my meager salary, she just strings me along by promising me interesting work soon. I bet a seasoned, professional secretary would never let herself be duped that way.

"What's the difference?" Alice says. "You think you are so much better off than me with your shitty jobs? We all could use a career boost. We need to figure out how to move on, get where we want to go. Unless you guys wanna be expert coffee makers and word processors, this is pointless. Never mind that none of our jobs pay enough."

"She's sort of right," Rose admits, grudgingly.

"Okay. I can get on board with the career thing," I agree.

"Awesome. It's settled. New rule number one," Alice writes in big scrawl with a Sharpie on the fridge,

"_Get a career. The following steps must be taken by all current residents: _

_(1) send out at least twenty resumes each month; _

_(2) if we go out, it should be to networking events; and _

_(3) join an industry orientated association. _

_Fines for non-compliance to be calculated at the end of each month._"

"Jeez, Alice, that sounds kind of … " I start.

"... extreme," Rose finishes my musings. "And who polices this anyway?"

"How about we fine the things that are easy to proof? For example, each of us should be able to submit evidence of the amount of resumes sent out." Alice looks at us expectantly. "And the rest, we can work on the honorary system."

"Okay." I nod.

"Fine, " Rose agrees. "But is writing it out on the fridge really necessary? Here, where everyone can see it? I don't have Alzheimer's, so I think I can remember."

"We need to take charge, so yes, writing it down—here where we all see it every day - is essential." Alice is on a mission and no one can stop her. "Now, about that other thing that's missing in our lives—men."

"I'm done," I declare. "I flounce. I'll invest in a rabbit when I get my tax return. It's easier and less messy."

"I'm in. Not with the rabbit bit. Those things just smell like plastic and cost way too much," Rose says to my surprise. "I could use a boyfriend. One that has a well paying job and an apartment."

"Sound like you are looking for a sugar daddy." I snort, thinking about Rose with an older guy. Out of the three of us she's the most finicky when it comes to looks, so I just can't envision it.

"No, I don't want someone who buys me stuff constantly or takes care of me. I can't do that by myself, thank you very much. I just want someone who has a job and has some aspirations. I can't use another slob living in his parents' basement without a plan. I want someone who at least occasionally would offer to pay for dinner and buy me some flowers for my birthday. Is that really too much to ask?"

"No, it's not," Alice confirms.

"Okay, I could use one of those, too," I admit.

"Someone who isn't an asshole," Alice says.

"I hear ya," Rose adds.

" ... who actually wants a girlfriend," Alice notes with a sigh.

"But where do you find them?" I question.

"Therein lies the dilemma," Rose agrees

"We need to focus. Go to the right places, attend networking events, holiday parties, join a gym," Alice starts rattling off.

"Sounds exhausting," I admit. Smiling and small talk are not my thing and I haven't actually exercised since high school.

"We're going to have to bite in the sour apple, that much's for certain. I don't want any dipshits who live with three roommates and don't have jobs anymore." Rose is definitely making a real effort.

"Okay, then it's settled." Alice smiles and adds the next line to her odd looking list. "Actively search and date only guys who are

(1) employed,

(2) with disposable income,

(3) have their own apartment, and

(4) want a girlfriend."

"Dating seems too loosely worded. No fraternizing with guys who don't fit those categories should be added," Rose says and Alice does so promptly and with enthusiasm.

"Sorry, but what does 'fraternizing' even mean here?" I ask, not sure what to make of Rose's ardor for these rules.

"Simple: no flirting and no fooling around. And definitely no sex. Any violations of this rule will be a five Dollar fine."

"So we are celibate now? And five Dollars? What happened to two?" I'm getting scared about what I signed up to here.

"Unless the guy fits the bill, yes." Rose gives me a stern look. "What's the matter, Bella? Five minutes ago you said you were giving up on guys altogether and investing in a rabbit, now you can't agree to this?"

"Okay. You got me." I raise my hands up in defeat.

"Here's to our new rules!" Alice raises her glass to us and we all down our remaining drinks.

"I need to lose five pounds. Maybe ten. Should we add that too?"

"Ugh, Bella. That one you really don't need to write down," Alice tells me who miraculously always stays a size zero.

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><p><strong>Any New Year's resolutions you wanna share?<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**The Return of the Yeti**

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos, but since I'm the Queen of Typos, some might creep in. **

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>7. January 3, 2012 at 8:00 AM<p>

_At Home_

"Rose, can I borrow your beige wool sweater? You know, the one that's super thick and makes your skin itch?" I stutter. My teeth are chattering, I'm so cold.

"Sure. But can I get it back when I get home?"

"Emmett said he heard the super say that boiler will be repaired today," Alice yells from the bathroom door wrapped in her duvet with a toothbrush in her hand.

"Let's hope," Rose says and runs out the door.

I get dressed in three layers, including Rose's sweater, and my coat.

Standing in the door ten minutes later, I take quick inventory.

Metro Card in pocket, check.

Traveling cup filled with coffee in hand ('cause Starbucks is out of the question today), check.

Scarf, hat and gloves, check, check, check.

As I fly out the door glancing at my phone, I realize I'm kind of late, so I pick up my pace.

_I'd like to get an earlier start in the mornings in the New Year._

_Best, _  
><em>Heidi<em>

I read as I whisk down my block until my face hits something hard. And warm.

And then my hands feel warm, too. Like, really warm … and wet.

"Shit," I mumble before looking up and seeing brown hair and thick eyebrows, furrowed. "I'm sorry." Shifting my focus further down, I stare at a guy's chest and the big brown stain that's there. Judging by the size of the stain, it looks like spilled my entire cup of coffee on him. Some ended up on my gloves, but most of it clearly ended up on his shirt.

"Are you okay?" he asks, picking up the lid to my cup from the ground and handing it to me.

"Shit. I'm so sorry. I should've screwed the lid on properly."

"It's okay." He smiles, pushing his hands into this pockets, looking like he isn't in the least bit bothered by his soiled shirt. It's soaked through though and the coffee, which was warm in my mug, must be cold and sticky by now.

"For what it's worth, it's really not okay and I'm still sorry."

He laughs. "Here," he takes my empty travel cup out of my hand without hesitation, "let me refill this for you."

"Uh, no. Why?" I stare at him like he's a little green space-alien. He's still grinning widely.

"Um, cause I work here?" He points at the coffee shop behind him. He takes two steps toward the door and then holds it open for me. "Come on. I'll refill your cup while you wash your hands."

I follow him inside where the usual crowd of work-at-home artist, or whatever they're doing to make a living, is busy typing away on their MacBooks.

"The bathroom is there." He nods toward a door.

Inside the small bathroom, I wrap the gloves up in toilette paper, stuff them in my bag and wash my hands quickly.

When I return, he's standing behind the counter, frothing milk. He changed into a simple white tee. I watch him pour some espresso in my mug before he fills it with milk and dashes it with cinnamon.

"You really didn't have to do this," I tell him when he turns around to hand me my coffee.

"It's nothing. I was in your way and made you spill our coffee. Don't want you getting caffeine withdrawal on account of me standing around on the sidewalk."

"Right. Whatever. More like, I didn't watch where I was going and assaulted a stranger."

He grins some more. I shake my head. Clearly, he's suffering from a chemical imbalance in his brain. No normal person is that chipper this early in the morning, particularly not after they've had a cup of coffee spilled on them.

"So …" He bites his bottom lip and then smirks. "I didn't get to introduce myself the other night." He holds out his hand. "I'm Edward."

I swear I've never seen him before. He's sort of good looking, so I think I would remember and while I still wrack my brain from where I should know him, he takes his hand back slowly and rubs his chin with it, looking almost embarrassed with a pink stain to his cheeks.

"What night?" I ask.

"I believe it was New Year's. You were wearing a cute, black dress."

I still don't remember him and it must show.

"You were with your friend—a tall blonde over at Sam's? You ordered a vodka cranberry, if I remember correctly."

Realization dawns on me. I should be the one turning pink, not him.

"You were the guy who paid for the drinks? What happened to the beard? Never mind. Don't answer. Dumb question. Well, thank you anyway. Now I owe you big time. Drinks and coffee," I rattle on, while he eyes me with a curious expression on his face.

"You don't owe me a thing-"

"Yeah, I do," I insist, feeling uncomfortable and put on the spot. "Well, I gotta run." I turn and start walking toward the door.

"Hey, you forgot something!"

"What?" I look back, searching the counter for my cell phone or some other item I always misplace only to find a perfectly clean surface devoid of any clutter.

"You don't owe me a thing except your name. I still don't know what to call you," he explains

"Bella. My name is Bella."

"Well, nice to meet you, Bella."

"Yeah, you too," I mumble, continuing on my way out the door.

"Wait," he says before I can make my escape. When I look back at him, he's holding a white paper bag up to me.

"Um...I …" I stutter. I want to tell him that I already do owe him more than my name and this is really not necessary. Never mind that I really would like to lose five pounds and the butter croissant, or whatever else is in that bag, is possibly not helping, but all of that would just make me sound like an ungrateful bitch and so I shut up, walk back, take the bag and murmur, "Thanks."

"Have a nice day, Bella." I hear him say when I'm almost out the door.

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><p><strong>Ever spilled something on a cute guy? Please do share.<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos, but since I'm the Queen of Typos, some might creep in. **

**Short chapters are liberating. Cheers to that!**

**I'll update as fast as my daytime job, which pays the bills, allows me to.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>8. January 3, 2012 at 11:30 AM.<p>

_At the Volturi Literary Agency, LLC_

When Heidi leaves for her three-hour lunch, I start searching for jobs online. The pickings are slim and nothing seems much better than the position I currently have. To satisfy Alice's arbitrary quota, I apply for a clerk position at a big agency and an assistant gig with a photo agency.

I doubt I'll get so much as a call back for the jobs. Both gigs, despite being described as "entry level," require lots of experience that I don't have.

More for myself than the new rule, I start digging through the pile of manuscripts Heidi has stored in her closet.

I figure it wouldn't hurt if I could find a sellable book and then try to convince Heidi to take the author on as a client. Who knows? Maybe if I find her a decent, new client, she'd promote me to junior agent and my career problem would be solved.

Dust bunnies have settled on all but the newest pile of manuscripts.

I dig deep and grab an envelope from the bottom of the pile.

It contains a self-help book. Not my cup of tea usually, but what the heck, I give it a try.

After thirty pages of common sense wisdom, sprinkled with some nonsensical new-agey stuff about finding inner peace, channeling energy and letting go of negativity, I start yawning.

I pick up two more envelopes and a bottle of water and settle on the floor near the closet. My stomach bulges uncomfortably over the waistline of my pants. It feels like the chocolate croissant, courtesy of Edward-the-former-Yeti, has settled permanently on my gut and all the dieting for the rest of the day will be in vain.

The next manuscript turns out to be light erotica. It's about a graduate student falling for her college professor who incidentally likes to spank his love interests. Well, not all of them; only female students and only the ones who're gullible enough. Reading the detailed lists of odd devices and role-playing scenes, my mind starts picturing the bizarre amorous positions the old guy and his much younger lady get into. I waive the white flag and toss the piece to the side when he screws her up the ass with a strap-on dildo as his old, saggy balls slap against her firm, young flesh.

I'm starting to get the suspicion there's a reason Heidi throws all this stuff straight into the closet, never to see the light of day again.

Heidi calls around three to tell me, she won't be returning to the office today, but expects a "very important" delivery around five. Message received: I better stay here until at least six o'clock.

Alice calls five minutes later.

"Bella, when are you getting out of work today?" I can tell by the pitch of her voice that she's in really good mood.

"I don't know...hopefully by six."

"That works. Can you meet me at Grand Central around six for drinks?"

"I'm kind of low on cash and my credit card's maxed out."

"This guy invited me."

"You, but not me, if I hear you correctly."

"Don't be dense. He said to bring a friend."

"Who?"

"This guy I met when I went to do some measurements at his parents' apartment. Very cool place and super nice parents. His mom's an interior designer."

"So you're going out for drinks with him because his parents are nice and have a sweet apartment?"

"You're such a cynic! Of course not. He's funny. Plus, I'm already planning on networking with his mom. She gave me her card before he asked me out for drinks."

"Okay. Fine. I tag along."

Heidi's "around" timeframes are usually not an exact science, so I'm hoping the delivery will get here before six.

"Great. And oh, Bella, you're not wearing jeans, are you?"

"No. Frumpy black pants." Or as Heidi call is, 'business-casual attire.' "Why?"

"The bar they're taking us to has a 'no jeans' rule. I'm sewing myself a skirt over lunch. Let's meet at the at info booth in the middle, okay?"

"Sure. See you."

I hang up and continue with my mission of finding a manuscript with mass-appeal.

I find a bunch of cutesy novels designed for the teenage audience—from that I hear a growing market—and flip through a bunch of them. They're short and sweet, but none of them read like the next Harry Potter or Twilight series, so I toss them back into the dust bunny hole.

"Hey, Bella. Happy New Year," Charlotte greets me when I enter the bathroom for the tenth time after I chucked down three bottles of water instead of actual food during the course of the day.

"Happy New Year to you, too," I say before running into a stall pronto.

"So what's Heidi up to these days?" Charlotte is about Heidi's age and works at the law firm next door to us. "Hope she doesn't still keep you sitting in that office over the weekend."

Unlike Heidi, Charlotte's nice.

"Yeah, she still does. Today I've to wait for some important package to arrive, oh, somewhere around five o'clock? I bet it's an order of diet pills from ." I flush and step to a sink to wash my hands.

Charlotte is laughing. "Did you open up one of her packages accidentally on purpose?"

"No. However, she did drop the invoice on her desk and ordered me to clean it up later on."

"Darn! That's hilarious. I hope she pays you decent overtime for your silence."

I laugh at her suggestion. Charlotte shakes her head.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I gotta run. I'll see you around." Giving me an apologetic smile, she leaves.

I trot back to the office to do some data-entry work and follow it up by a virtual window-shopping session at while I'm waiting for the delivery guy to get there.

Around five, my salivation session over the Chloe satchels I will never be able to afford is interrupted by a strong knock at the door.

"Hey, Charlotte. What's up?" I ask, a little disappointed when she pokes her head into my office. I was hoping for one the dudes dressed in dark blue or brown.

"Sorry to bother you, Bella, but I gotta run out of here. The daycare center called. My three year old isn't feeling too well."

"Shit. I'm sorry," I say, feeling honestly bad for her. Charlotte's husband ditched her without so much as good-bye note last year, leaving her to fend for herself with three small kids under her care.

Sometimes men really are douchebags.

"Our receptionist called in sick today and my two colleagues are out of the office. Anyway, long story short, I'm expecting some urgent paperwork and someone needs to sign upon delivery. Since you mentioned you have to wait around anyway, I was wondering if you'd mind if I leave a note at my door sending them here?"

Charlotte looks tired and desperate and it's not that I can leave before Heidi's stuff gets here. "It's fine. Send 'em right over."

"You're a lifesaver. I totally owe you, Bella."

"No worries," I assure her.

Luckily, a guy dressed in the standard brown uniform walks into my office around five-thirty, carrying both Heidi's box from Bergdorf and Charlotte's envelope from another law firm.

I run out of the office promptly by five forty five.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading. <strong>

**Any good stories to tell about horrible bosses? Please share. **


	9. Chapter 9

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos. You know the drill.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>9. Tuesday, January 3, 2012 at 6:00PM<p>

_At Grand Central Terminal _

Unbeknownst to Alice and me, half of the Occupy Wall Street Movement has decided to assemble in the terminal. I make a haphazard attempt to push myself through the screaming masses to the info booth, but give up and text Alice instead.

_Let's meet at the escalator going upstairs - B_

"Shit, I didn't know there was going to be protest here today," Alice yells over the crowd of people when I see her. "This way." She starts pushing her way toward the west side exit and then through one door outside and through another one back into the building to a bar.

I follow her, but with much less agility. As a result, I get hit smack in middle by a sign one the protesters is carrying, and then in the face by a backpack a guy dressed in a pinstripe suit is logging along.

I'm already regretting my decision to come along with Alice.

At a podium at entrance of the bar a woman at least six foot tall and thin as a rail is standing with perfect posture and scribbling something down. She's obviously too busy to greet us.

"Hi," Alice tries, but the Amazon-like creature in front of us doesn't even raise her head of perfectly coiffure hair. A chignon spun out of dirty blonde hair with subtle highlights sits at the nape of her neck.

"Excuse me?" I say, but all I get is a raised finger, signaling to give her a minute while she takes some more time ignoring us.

Two more minutes pass, and I swear if it wasn't for the red robe blocking the entrance to the bar, I'd just ignore her.

"Ladies, how can I help you?" She has a hint of a smile on her face as she finally inspects us.

"We're meeting some people for drinks," Alice says and starts waving at some guy with dark hair sitting at a small table. He grins widely when he sees Alice, and jolts his neighbor with his elbow who then looks up from his iPhone.

For a brief moment, a frown forms between our hostess's perfectly arched brows, but it quickly disappears and is replaced by a mask of calmness as she guides us to the table.

"I don't know why that girl has such a stick up her ass. The dress she's wearing is from H&M," Alice whispers in my ear as I stare at the girl's rear clothed in a red satin.

"Whatever," I mumble.

"Hey," Alice greets the dark haired guy dressed in a grey suit and kisses him on both cheeks, as if they were old acquaintances. "This is Bella. Bella, this is Tyler."

"Nice to meet you." Tyler shakes my hand so vigorously, I'm not sure I'd offer it voluntarily up again. Standing right in front of him, I notice his first defect: he's about an inch shorter than I am and I'm not tall—not by any stretch of the imagination.

"Nice to meet you, too." I give him an encouraging smile, because, fuck, it can't be easy for a guy his height to find a girl.

"This is my friend Mike," he adds, as the guy next to him gets up. On first glance, Mike's hands down more attractive than Tyler. He's tall, with a nice enough smile, and his suit fits him well, which makes me think he didn't purchase it at Men's Warehouse.

Alice and Tyler quickly fall into a long conversation about design. Tyler works Architectural Digest and, unlike your average guy, has ample stuff to add to the subject.

"So what do you do?" Mike asks with his arm wrapped around my seat, leaning in.

"Um, I work as an assistant for a literary agent."

"Really?" His eyebrows are raised in surprise and he's grinning for some reason. "So that's what you want to become one day?"

"Yeah," I answer, shrugging my shoulders. "What's wrong with that?"

"Well, I just hadn't pegged you for the literary type," he continues with an even bigger smile.

"Is that supposed to be compliment?"

He chuckles. "I didn't mean to offend. You're too pretty for a job like that, so yeah, take it as a compliment. You know, girls who're into books usually are those gloomy wallflowers with glasses."

"Aha, I see. Well, thank you," I answer politely despite the fact that I want to roll my eyes, ask him if that's the best he can come up with and order another cocktail to reach the level of inebriation where I can just as easily ignore him.

"You're welcome." He's clearly satisfied with his statement.

"So what's it that you do to pay the bills, Mike?"

Apparently, I've hit a home run with that question.

He talks for a good hour about the fascinating world of insurance brokering, while I nod and slurp cocktails.

Before I realize it (and before I can get another word in edge wise), it's eight-ish and we're heading to a restaurant, where my stomach gets some long overdue sustenance to digest, albeit in the form of raw oysters. Tyler and Mike giggle like prepubescent, little girls as they order them. Alice and I ignore them.

"So …" Mike starts as we're standing near the curb at the sensible time of ten, "what are you doing this Friday?"

"I don't know. I've nothing much planned."

"Well, I'd really like to see you again," he says, moving closer and bending down a little. "How about dinner?"

His proposal sounds awfully formal and affected and I'm not sure I want to see him again. But I know I should, since what I've learned about Mike during the past fours hours is as follows: (1) he has a job, (2) disposal income, (3) his own apartment - in Manhattan, no less, (4) and by the time he's thirty he wants nothing more than a dog, a house (preferably by a lake) and, most importantly, a wife—which means he must want a girlfriend.

Clearly, he fits the bill.

"Okay." I hear myself say.

We exchange digits and before I can duck, he places a sloppy, wet kiss right on my mouth. I can thwart his hand though before it lands on my ass. Mike pretends he hasn't noticed as I step to the side.

By ten past ten, Alice and I are safely tucked into a cab on our way home. Tyler even generously offered to pay after Alice and I were about to head to the subway.

"So?" Alice nudges me with her shoulder.

"I don't know."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"I mean, he seems nice, but ..." I sigh, leaning back in the seat. "What about you? You two seemed to get along, no?"

At least that's the impression I got from their near constant chatter.

"Well, he's nice enough to talk to, but," she frowns, "I get a strange vibe from him."

"Do you think he's gay?" I ask laughing.

"Ha," she wrinkles her nose, "negative on that one. He tried to kiss me and nearly shoved his hands under my skirt at the restaurant."

"Are you going to see him again?"

"Yeah, we're going to see some movie at the MOMA tomorrow."

"Sounds gay."

"Yeah, sort of, right?" I nod. "Are you seeing Mike again?"

"Dinner on Friday."

We settle in comfortable silence for the rest of the ride and arrive to a warm apartment fifteen minutes later.

"I guess they finally did fix the boiler." I unpeel my layers and join Rose, who's already asleep and snoring, in the bedroom.

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><p><strong>Loved the little notes about shitty bosses. How about lukewarm dates with people who are perfect on paper?<strong>

**The very sweet and kind DreamOfTheEndless nominated Crash for a Sunflower Award under the category Best Drama. If you're reading that story, enjoying it and think it merits your vote, here's where you can do so: **

** .com  
><strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos. You know the drill.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>10. Wednesday, January 4, 2012 at 7:0AM<p>

_At Home_

When I check my BlackBerry the next morning, I see about twenty new e-mails sitting in my inbox—all of them from Heidi.

I read the first two and panic. She's clearly in a particularly pissy mood this morning, asking me about things I took care of over a week ago.

I make it to the train in records speed without spilling my coffee, only to come to a grinding hold on the platform with nowhere to go.

_"Attention all passengers, due to a signaling problem, there is currently no train service on the F Line between Prospect Avenue and 9th Street and Smith."_

After several train-switching-maneuvers and two sprints, I barge into the office at 9:05 AM.

"It's five past nine. You do know that your normal working hours start at 9:00AM?" Heidi is standing near my desk, tapping her foot.

"I'm sorry-"

"You know what? I really don't have time to listen to this." She sighs melodramatically and takes a step into the direction of her office. "I swear, sometimes I don't know what I pay you for." Pausing in the door she seems to remember something and turns around. "And before I forget, since when are you accepting mail for Charlotte?"

"Um, it was just this once. She had to run-"

"Never mind. I trust it won't happen again unless she wants to chip in for your salary."

I hurry responding to her repetitive e-mails without coming off as rude. It's hard when all my replies consist of "please see my e-mail from the prior week."

The second I'm done, Heidi emerges from her office with a big white box in her arms.

"Here," she says, as she dumps the box near my desk. "These should be all my expense receipts. I need you to sort them and enter them into a spreadsheet."

Ten minutes later, she walks past my desk with her coat slung over her arm. "I'm heading out for meetings and won't make it back to the office today. I'll see you tomorrow. I'd like to hand those," she adds, pointing at the box I haven't dared to open, "when they're all sorted to my accountant by the end of this week. So make sure you're done by then."

By eight o'clock my stomach is growling (lunch consisted out of a bag of chips washed downed with a diet coke) and my head hurts, so I decide it's time to call it a day. I've barely put a dent into the box stuffed to the brim with receipts and shudder when I think of the task still ahead. Who knew you could deduct the cost for mani- and pedicures?

By pushing myself on the train without waiting for passengers to exit first, I win the seat lottery and pull out another manuscript I snatched out of Heidi's closet before I ran out. After roughly ten pages, it becomes painfully obvious to me that what I'm reading is a schmaltzy romance novel, complete with misunderstandings, possibly tortured pasts of the main love interests—as forebodingly hinted at in the prologue, and a gorgeous villain whose one mission in life it is to keep the star-crossed lovers apart. The heroine of the tale is the model damsel in distress—always in need to be rescued and so utterly lacking in self-confidence that she can never stand up for herself. The man of her dreams is, of course, dashingly handsome, rich and brooding.

It's a train wreck—and a predictable one at that—I realize after reading the first couple of pages. Albeit, one I can't tear my eyes away from. I'm so engrossed indeed that it only registers on the periphery of my consciousness when someone sits down next to me, shoving me pretty hard with his elbow while his legs are pressing against mine. Sue me. I can't stop reading because right on that page the couple has a rather intimate encounter on a dance floor. He's about to confess something while she's still wondering whether he finds her attractive even though his boner is poking her neatly in the stomach, when the guy next to me starts chuckling loudly.

I stare at the words in front of me—large, virile, erect member—and wish I were invisible. Obviously whoever is sitting next to me finds my reading material humorous. Carefully, without daring to look up, and as if his laugh isn't a contributing factor _at all_, I start closing the folder.

"Fascinating reading material you have there." I hear an oddly familiar voice say and look up. "Don't put it away on my account."

There's no mirror anywhere near to check my reflection, but judging by my heart rate and my general level of embarrassment, the color on my cheeks must be bright red when I notice it's no other than Edward, the former Yeti, sitting next to me.

"Umm, yeah," I admit lamely. "One of the manuscripts we got in."

"We got in?" He corks his eyebrows up in amusement—clearly at my expense, which annoys me a little, I'm not gonna lie.

"I work for a literary agency."

"With really high standards, huh?"

"Oh, shut up. I dug it out of the closet. I've been searching for something worth while to bring to my boss's attention so I can finally argue for a promotion."

Finally, he stops laughing.

"I'm sorry then. That's what they sent in?" He furrows his brows and then smirks. "Wait, what kind of literary agency are you working for? Are most of your clients harlequin authors?"

"Oh, shut up. Not funny. The three writers Heidi reps are boringly highbrow and she never takes on anybody new, which really sucks for me because at this rate my career is going nowhere."

"Sorry?" he offers, but I think I can still see the left corner of his mouth twitching up.

"Not your fault," I say. I'm still slightly embarrassed, but that's just really my own fault for reading the stuff openly on my lap while sitting in the subway, leaving half of the car to read with me. And now that I've had more than a fleeting moment to inspect him, I do notice how really cute he is, which really doesn't make it better.

"I know. Still, I understand."

"What?"

"The desperate feeling you get when you notice your career is going nowhere."

"Oh. So I gather working as a barista isn't your chosen career?"

He chuckles. "Jeez, that's what they call people who work at coffee shops? That doesn't sound virile." Then shakes his head. "Not at all."

I can't help it, I laugh. "I couldn't put it down. The story was just too … powerful?"

"You tell me. You read how many pages of this?"

"I don't know. What stop is it?" I glance out the door. Chambers Street. Still a couple of stops from home.

"Don't even try to change the subject."

"Really? Why not? Now I'm wondering who's more obsessed with that lovely piece of fiction—you or I?"

"Okay, I admit it." He pauses and bites his lip. "I'm really enjoying your pink cheeks every time you get flustered."

"Ugh. Awful."

"I have to disagree. Quite charming actually." He winks.

"Don't wink at me. And compliments won't get you anywhere."

"Who says I want to get anywhere?"

"You're not fooling me." I shake my head in disapproval, before looking at him with the sternest expression on my face I can muster. "We've already established you want to be somewhere other than the coffee shop. So spill it. What's your ambition?"

"I used to say my ambition was to have ambition, but now I'm slowly starting to realize that that might not be true after all."

"What made you change your mind?"

"Living in New York, I guess." He lifts one shoulder in resignation. "Everybody here always seems to be on the go, ready to start the next big thing or be the next big thing. Being a slacker might no longer be my style."

"No, but seriously? What do you want to do?" Usually people volunteer freely what they want to do for a living, so his reticence to talk is new to me.

"Music. I play the guitar, piano, some harmonica. And composing. I do that now, just not as much as I'd like and nobody pays me."

"I see. Are you any good?"

"My mom thinks so." He smiles at me. It a big smiles that makes me smile too. "No, kidding aside. I play next Wednesday with some friends of mine at a bar on Ninth. You should come."

"Mmm. Maybe I will." The train stops on 7th Avenue. "This is my stop. Fuck." I jump up and sprint to the door. "I'll see you around," I yell and hear him laugh.

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><p><strong>Ever gotten caught reading a particularly smutty story in public … or maybe even on your own sofa? Please feel free to share. <strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos. You know the drill.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>11. Thursday, January 5, 2012 at 10:00PM<p>

_At Home_

"Are you just coming back from work?" Alice asks when I open the door.

"Yup. Why?"

"It's just really late. I guess she finally gave you some real work to do, huh?"

I drop my bag listlessly on the floor and follow her into our kitchen where Rose is smoking a cigarette out the window, half crouched outside on the fire escape.

"Nope, not really. I'm sorting through her receipts to get them ready for her accountant. Apparently I've become her personal assistant." I slump down on a chair. "Rose, you can smoke inside if you let me bum one from you."

"That bad?" Rose steps back into the apartment and tosses her pack to me. "You need one, too?" she asks Alice.

"No, I'm good unless you've got something stronger ..." Alice answers with a serious expression on her face.

"You got it." Rose picks up her cell and scrolls through some numbers. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Don't tell me you have a dealer in your list of contacts?" Alice looks a little bit shocked.

"Sure do. Dime-O-Weed-Jasper. He delivers to Riley and mostly to bigger clientele in the city, but he mentioned once that he lives only a couple of blocks away from us and said to call him if I ever felt inclined to feel mellow."

Alice giggles. "So, he does home deliveries?"

"Yeah," Rose answers absentmindedly, while she waits for him to pick up. "It's the only way he does business actually."

Rose chats with him briefly. After the order is placed, we rummage through our purses for the cash. When the doorbell rings twenty minutes later, we've successfully managed to scrounge up twenty dollars (five of them in coins).

Like an excited flock of chickens around feeding time, we all get up to meet and greet Dime-O-Weed Jasper at the door.

"Hey darlin'," he greets Rose and kisses her on the cheek. "I'm so glad you finally decided to take me up on the offer."

He doesn't look like someone who operates a business called "Dime-O-Weed" at all, not that I'd have any preconceived notions about what your average medicine man making house calls should look like. Still, nothing about him screams dimes or weed. I venture to say the cheapest thing he's wearing is his tie—a pink Burberry one. He's dressed in a grey suit with slim pants and a light pink shirt. To finish the look, he has a pair of Tom Ford sunglasses sitting on his head. Jasper's hair is so blond and his eyes so blue that he looks like a pop import from Sweden.

Without hesitation he steps into our apartment, closes the door behind him and presents us with our options skillfully wrapped in premium little paper bags which he neatly lines up on our small dresser.

"May I ask what your preferences are? Would you prefer something smooth and lasting or maybe something more potent with a light herbal taste?"

I've never in my life heard anyone describe pot like that and I'm not sure I even have a preference when it comes to the kind of pot I smoke.

"Alice?" Rose nods in her direction. "She was the one who had the itch, sooo … any preferences?"

Alice just stares with wide eyes at Jasper.

"Alice?" he says and looks at her with smirk on his face.

Before I can nudge her with my shoulder in an attempt to signal that planet earth is calling, Jasper picks out a little pink envelope from an inside pocket of his suit jacket and hold its up as if it's the Golden Ticket.

"Allow me," he says, "I think I know just what Alice needs. Here." He reaches his hand with the little pink envelope out to her and miraculously Alice snaps back into action

"Thank you," she whispers with an uncharacteristically timid smile on her lips. Rose is standing on the sideline rolling her eyes at me.

"Great," Rose says. "So how much do we owe you?"

Jasper shudders a little before he responds, "Darling, you've brought me so much business and always work so hard to keep that unpleasant boss of yours out of my path, so please take this as a token of my appreciation. In fact, as long as Riley's my client and I don't have to see him when I make my delivery, my services and product will be free of charge."

"Are you sure?" Rose cocks an odd look at him.

He smiles and nods.

"Well, thanks," Rose mutters.

"Yeah, thanks," I add.

We usher Jasper out the door while Alice stays mum.

"God, he's cute."

"Really? I don't know, personally I can't handle a guy who wears tight pants and pink ties. But whatever. He's a drug dealer, Alice!" Rose chides, taking the pink envelope out of her hands and searching for the pure pipe in our kitchen drawer.

"And?" Alice furrows here eyebrows in confusion.

"He's a no go. _You _scribbled the stuff on that fridge not I, so unless you are prepared to pay up …"

Alice still looks confused.

"Alice, are you that dense?"

"What? He's employed."

"Self-employed in an illegal line of business. Need I say more?" Rose picks up the Sharpie and adds the words "gainfully" and "in a legal line of business" so that our rule now reads "Actively search for and date only guys who are (1) gainfully employed in a legal line of business."

"Jeez, Rose. You're such a buzz kill."

"Oh, please. When his ass gets busted, which you know will happen sooner or later, you'll thank me."

I take a puff from the pipe and start giggling.

"Pull yourself together. You can't be high yet," Alice says. She's clearly annoyed that Rose basically just forbid her to go after our drug dealer.

"Not high at all, but can you imagine goldy locks in his suit and his pink tie in a holding cell at Rikers Island? You gotta admit it's kind of a funny vision."

Alice doesn't seem to think so at all, but Rose is laughing as well.

"So Rose, what have you done this week to accomplish what the we set out in these rules?" Alice demands, reaching for the pipe.

Rose squirms in her seat. "Well, I thought about contacting some designers, but it's easier said than done. Most of the bigger ones know Riley or run into him at events and stuff … so I'm not sure how wise it is to reach out to them without some prep-work. For now, I'm keeping my ear on the ground to see if anybody anywhere is leaving."

"I see," Alice responds with a condescending expression on her face.

"I also thought about the networking thing a bit, but half of my industry associations are by 'invitation only' so it's not as if I can pay fifty bucks and attend some events with bad wine on tap."

"Any progress in the boyfriend department?"

"Lay-off, Alice, will ya? I work ten hours a day and ninety-nine point nine percent of my co-workers are either women or gay men. It's not like all the options in the world are presenting themselves daily to me."

"Well, I work at a place where the owner's in his sixties and married and most of our clientele are women and yet, I prevailed! Bella and I both have dates tomorrow night."

"So why did you get all sweet and wobbly around Jasper? I mean, if you already have such great prospects, why bother?" Rose narrows her eyes on Alice who huffs and looks away. "Oh, don't tell me! I know you think you're really good at organizing, but I don't think you can handle dating two guys at once."

"Can we just cool it?" I suggest, because suddenly I don't feel all that mellow anymore, only tired.

"Whatever," Rose says, takes another inhale from the pipe and gets up. "Going to bed. I have to be at the showroom at six o'clock tomorrow morning. Good night."

"Night."

Alice and I refill the pipe once more, but there's no joy in it now.

"Alice?"

I spit my toothpaste into the sink as she plucks her eyebrows.

"Mmmh?"

"I'm not at all that excited about the date. I'm not sure if that's a good thing."

She steps back from the mirror and smiles. "Let's look at it from the bright side—free dinner!"

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><p><strong>Ever gone on a date just for the food? Tell me about it. :) AND btw - I can't believe so very few of you ever got caught reading smut. You all must be way sneakier than me.<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos. You know the drill.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>12. Saturday, January 7, 2012 around 10:00 AM<p>

_At Home_

"So, how was the date?" Rose asks, looking up from her task of doing the dishes.

"Weird." I stumble to the coffee pot only to find it empty.

"We're out of coffee. A trip to the supermarket's in order."

"I need to do laundry. I had to wear granny panties to my date."

"Is that why you came home?"

"Nope. Had nothing to do with it. He didn't seem interested at all." I shake my head, still in disbelief about my date last night.

"I want the 411 on that date. And oh, by the way, Alice's still not home."

"Really?"

Rose shrugs her shoulders. "Go get your laundry bag. I need to do some, too. We can get coffee before."

Ten minutes later, still barely conscious, we're standing in line at the coffee shop.

"Hey, Bella," Edward greets me as if we're old friends. For some reason, I didn't expect him here. This morning. "How are ya? What can I get for you?"

"Ummm … still asleep. And you?" Glancing down at my ensemble consisting of worn-out sneakers, yellow t-shirt (formerly white) and old jogging pants, I feel oddly self-conscious, like it matters what I look like this morning. Edward's, of course, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, wearing a clean grey shirt with his face freshly shaven.

"Well caffeinated and awake."

"Could we get two large coffees, please?" Rose interrupts.

"Sure." He turns around to get the order ready and I'm left staring at this back, which is as nice looking as the front it turns out.

"Thanks," I mumble when he pushes the two coffee cups over the counter.

"You're welcome." He smiles as Rose hands him the money. "Here's the flyer for the gig I'm playing next Thursday." He pushes a piece of paper over the counter and hands Rose back her change. "You guys should come," he says to both of us, but strangely his eyes never leave mine.

"Yeah, maybe?" I answer quickly and run after Rose who's already heading toward the door.

"So when did you become best buddies with new barista?" Rose asks the second we step out of the coffee shop to walk to the laundromat a block away.

"I spilled coffee on him one day. And then I ran into him on the train coming home the other night." I remember New Year's Eve. "You've met him before, too."

"I'm pretty sure I've never seen him before," she answers with complete certainty.

"The beard is gone, but other than that he looks pretty much the same." I don't divulge the tit-bit that I didn't recognize him at first either. Rose now looks confused. "He paid for our drinks on New Year's, remember?"

"Oh. Him. I try hard not to remember that night." She shrugs. "Well, he definitely cleaned up nicely. Too bad."

"Too bad, what?"

"Too bad that he's off limits because he's hot and really seems into you."

I take a second sip of my coffee before I respond. "First of all, I doubt he's into me and even if he was, he has a job and I'm pretty sure he's not homeless. So what's the problem?"

"I'm also sure he has three roommates and can barely feed himself on what they pay there. For your own sake, stay away. Besides, he's a musician and way too attractive for his own good. I'm sure he's presented with ample temptation and you know how well that works out," she states matter-of-factly, as if it's a foregone conclusion that he has no money and would cheat on me.

"I'm not even sure why we're talking about this. It's not that he's interested and neither am I."

"Right." Rose gives me a look that tells me she doesn't believe a word I'm saying. "Have a roll-around-the-hay with him if you can't resist, but I'm making you pay then."

I huff—annoyed at first, but then Rose winks. "You know you want to," she adds, laughing. "He's really cute."

"Shut up." I giggle. I can't help but agree with her. I do want to, particularly now that she's mentioned it.

"So give me more about that date," Rose demands after we've finished loading the laundry and watch our clothes tumble around in suds.

"It wasn't bad, I'm just not sure I'm into the guy. I mean, he's perfect on paper, but we don't really click. Anyway, the restaurant he took me to was nice and he was trying to charm me and all. Even tried to make small talk about books which I'm pretty sure he hadn't read." I chuckle thinking about it. "He actually started talking about Joan Didion's last memoir."

"He's pretentious."

"Just trying too hard. I swear he sounded like he'd memorized a fucking book review from The New York Times."

"Jeez. He sounds kind of … desperate? Is he fat or ugly?"

"No, he's not. Sort of clean-cut and preppy, but overall, not bad. That wasn't even the weirdest thing about the dinner, though. Get this, he barely touched his food! I don't think I've ever met a guy who didn't chow down at least double the portion I eat, yet the only thing he touched all night was three pieces of lettuce, without dressing. I asked him whether he wasn't feeling well or something, but he said he was feeling fine. I got bored sitting at the table and ended up eating all of the three appetizers he ordered for us to share and my main course, plus the French fries from his plate." Rose eyes widen for a second in shock.

"Shit."

"In my defense, I've been so busy at work lately that I've been skipping lunch left and right."

"Have you done anything about finding a new job?"

"I applied to a bunch of stuff this week, but I haven't gotten any callbacks. You?"

"Honestly, I don't know what to do about it. Let's not talk about it. It's too depressing."

"Jeez, Rose." I feel like I should hug her, but hugging isn't Rose's thing.

"Was he at least a good kisser?"

"Who?" Rose smirks like she's on to something. Yeah, my obvious apathy. "Oh, Michael!" I remember. "I don't know. He gave me these two wet good-bye smooches, so I really can't tell yet."

"You didn't even kiss him yet?

"It's odd, right?"

"Kind of. Are you seeing him again?"

"Next weekend. His company is a corporate sponsor of the Whitney, so he can go for free. I'd said I'd go with him."

"Do you really feel like doing this to yourself?"

"I don't, but he had this sort of pathetic expression on his face when he asked, like he was actually thinking the date went well, so I felt sorry for him and said fine."

Rose laughs. "You're such a pushover, Bella."

"No, I'm not."

We sit in silence watching Telemundo for a while. I'm annoyed with her for calling me a pushover. I'm also annoyed that she declared Edward off limits, though I would never admit to that one. Eventually I get bored. Either my Spanish isn't good enough or the plot is really bad.

"So what did you do last night?"

"Emmett came up with a box of pizza. So I invited him in and we watched TV in Alice's room. So what's that guy she went on a date with like?"

"I don't know. Short."

Rose snorts. "I guess we'll find out more when Alice gets home."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading. Most awkward dates … some good stories? Please share.<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos. You know the drill.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>13. Thursday, January 12, 2012 at 9:00 PM<p>

_At home_

After an uneventful day at the office (read: a good one), I scrounge the kitchen cabinets only to find them void of anything edible, like Cup Noodles or granola bars.

"Hey, I'm thinking about ordering Thai. Anybody want to join?" I yell, searching for the menu of a Thai place in the mix of at least 20 others pinned to our fridge with three fruit shaped magnets.

"I'd love to." Rose is running by the kitchen dressed in her coat. "But I can't. I've to run back to work. Jane didn't finished the digital archiving of the spring collection and the shit's due tomorrow morning."

"Why don't you call her and tell her to do it?" I ask, tugging on a menu and taking them all down.

"Yeah, I wish. She's currently on a plane to Paris for fashion week." I stop paying attention to the mess of papers now on the floor and stick my head out of the kitchen to look at Rose who surely must be pissed.

"Shut up! Riley is showing?" Alice yells, coming out of the bathroom with a straightening iron in her hand.

"No. Please, he's not that big! Jane's mom got invited and is taking Jane and Riley."

"Must be nice to have a mother who works for Barneys," I comment and I notice Rose looks like she's about to cry.

"Tell me about it." Rose straightens her shoulders, picks up her bag from the floor and storms toward the door. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Yeah, don't work too hard."

Alice has already retreated back into the bathroom. "Alice, do you wanna order?"

"No, I really wish I could …" she mumbles.

"Another date with Tyler?" Alice has been out almost every night and didn't come home all weekend.

"His mom is hosting a book party tonight for a friend of hers. Tyler invited me come with him. I just hope he doesn't expect me to go home with him afterward."

Clad in a cute dress and high heels, Alice is standing in front of the mirror trying to apply some concealer. Even from the door of the bathroom, a distance away, I can tell the concealer won't hide the dark circles under her eyes.

"Woman, you look tired."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"What's happening? Tyler not letting you catch any sleep?"

"You have no idea." Alice drops the concealer in the sink and sighs. "I swear, if he bugs me tonight, I'm just going to tell him, 'My vagina's closed for business.'"

I start chuckling. "Mmm, I see."

"Don't laugh. It's not even funny anymore. I'm sore. I swear, I haven't had this much sex in all of last year as I've had during the past five days."

"Really?"

"Okay. I'm exaggerating, but it feels like it."

"Well, is he any good? He better be, right?"

"Very good indeed. But, man, I need a break. He does have a magic tongue and all and trust me," she says in low voice with a look of amazement on her face,"the guy knows how to hit all the right spots."

"I see." There's something oddly disturbing to hear her talk about the short guy in this way. I'm not sure I want to know more.

"What are you going to do?" she asks, her eyes light up. "Hey, you could come along!"

"No, thanks." I'm not in the mood to see Alice being slobbered over, and then possibly having to take the train home by myself because she sucks at saying 'no.' Never mind that I could use a shower and pimple is blooming on my chin.

"Please," she begs.

"Look at me? I'm not fit for human company today. I'm gonna run downstairs in a bit and get a slice of pizza."

"Fine. Suit yourself." She huffs and returns her attention to applying her make up.

Ten minutes later, I'm in line at Smily's Pizza when I feel someone tapping me on the shoulder.

"Hey, how are you?" I ask, when I find Edward standing behind me in line.

"Great. Are you coming?"

"Where to?"

"My gig. Tonight. Remember?" He seems all eager and excited.

"Oh!" I do remember. Unfortunately the flyer disappeared somewhere on the way between the coffee shop, the laundromat, C-town and home. "It's tonight?"

I know the questions is superfluous, but damn it, I'm not prepared to face him and worse-I really wish I was.

"Yeah, I was going to grab a slice and then head over. You weren't gonna come," he states and then smirks.

"Sorry. I forgot." I feel like an ass because I don't even have an excuse, other than life has been busy.

"Miss?" the guy behind the counter interrupts.

"Oh, yeah. Can I get a regular slice to go, please?"

"Why don't you make it to stay," Edward orders from behind me. "Come on, eat with me."

I nod at the guy behind the counter who's already tossed my slice in the oven and move to the cash register to pay. As I'm pulling ten bucks out of the back pocket of my jeans, Edward stops me and offers to pay. At first, I graciously accept his offer, but when he starts digging through every pocket of his pants for money and then mumbles, "Crap, I think I left my wallet at home," I toss my cash on the counter.

"I'm really sorry. Now you have to let me make it up to you."

"I think I kind of still owe you, so no worries," I reply, reaching for some garlic powder and red pepper flakes. He skips the counter with the spice dispensers and walks ahead to one of the tables where he sits and starts blotting away the oil on his pizza with a some paper napkins.

"Shit. I don't think I've ever seen a guy doing that."

"You think I'm a girl because I'm trying to eat healthy?"

"If you really wanna be healthy, you shouldn't eat this pizza period," I tell him while he's still tapping napkins on his pizza.

"I know. I usually cook, but I didn't have time today."

"How very domestic of you."

"What? You don't cook?"

I shake my head vehemently.

"Never?" His brows are furrowed, like he's never met anyone who shunned the kitchen before. "So you eat out everyday?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Unless you consider boiling water for instant soup cooking." He shoots me an odd glance, kind of as if he's taken inventory of my appearance and I can feel my cheeks heat up. It feels like my careless and often-bad eating choices are horribly on display—from the pimple on my chin to the seat of my pants. "Don't be a judgmental ass. I don't have time and our kitchen is ill equipped, even if I wanted to cook."

"Didn't mean to be. I'm just a bit surprised, that's all."

"I don't know what's so surprising about it. My mom doesn't cook, my dad doesn't cook, and, hence, I don't," I admit with a tinge of embarrassment. Despite early indoctrination suffered at the hands by none other than my mother, Renee, that no self-respecting feminist would be caught dead with an apron around her waist and a spoon in her hand in the kitchen, I have long harbored doubts about the veracity of her teaching. "So ... when did you move to New York?"

"It's that obvious, huh?" he questions, chuckling. "About a month ago. My best friend from high school's been living here for two years and he'd been nagging me to stop by. So I did. You grew up here?"

"Yep. Never left town. Kind of pathetic, I guess. And no, it's not that obvious, but when I met you on the train you were talking about people 'in this city' and 'here'—and that usually suggests the person has lived in other places," I explain. "Where are you from?"

"A tiny town in Washington. You wouldn't know."

"You miss it?"

"Yeah … sometimes, but I think that's because life was simpler back then." I'm not sure what he means by that. I finish my last bite, toss my napkin on my grease-stained paper plate and before I can find out, he asks, "Ready?"

"For what?"

"To hear me play." He collects our trash of the table and tosses it.

"Ugh, can I take a pass. No offense and I appreciate the invite, but I'm kind of tired …" I blabber on in protest, but Edward just grabs my hand and tows me out the door. "We're the first band playing, so I promise you'll be in bed soon."

"Honestly?" I tug at his hand and he ignores me. I don't know how to feel about being towed to a concert by hand, never mind that's he's still somewhat of a stranger, albeit a cute one. "No, really? You're dragging me to hear you play, I mean literally dragging …"

He lets go of my hand and I miss his touch, regret my petulance.

"Please?" he requests, biting his lip.

I roll my eyes at him and sigh. "Okay."

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><p><strong>Ever got stuck paying for dinner?<strong>

Cejsmom rec'ed Crash over at The Lemon Stand (Thank you!). If you're reading Crash and like it, it's up for a public vote on that site.

http:/tehlemonadestand(dot)(blogspot)(dot)com


	14. Chapter 14

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos. You know the drill.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>14. Thursday, January 12, 2012 at 9:30 PM<p>

_In front of a bar._

"Dude, you're late!" a pudgy guy with short arms starts nagging the minute Edward and I arrive at the front steps to a basement bar. "What the fuck, Edward! This can really screw us!" He flails his arms up dramatically, making it hard for me to suppress my laughter. With his plaid shirt, ripped jeans and shoulder length greasy hair, he kinda looks like an out-of-shape, shorter version of Kurt Cobain.

"Yeah, what happened? I thought you were just going to get something to eat and come right back. We still have to set up," a tall blonde standing next to the wanna-be Cobain chimes in a whiny voice, while giving me a not so surreptitious once over.

"I'm sorry," is all Edward says before he picks up his guitar case, grabs my hand again and walks right past them into the bar. I admit, I could get used to holding his hand, but something feels strange about the scene, like I've become part of a quarrel that I have no business being in.

When we get inside, a tall dark haired guy walks over to Edward, hugs him briefly and he let's go off my hand.

"Hey, Pete. Sorry, I'm late. I already ran into Eli and Tanya ..."

"Umh, yeah, they've been in panic mode for the past 10 minutes about where you were. I told them to chill. We're not even set to play for another 20 minutes or so. Aside from plugging in a few cables, we're good to go."

Edward chuckles and scratches his head. "Yeah, well, I told them I was just running out for a slice of pizza and then I ran into Bella here," he nods in my direction, "so I stayed for a bit."

"Hey, Bella. I'm Pete." Pete's extending his hand to me, smiling broadly. "So, are you the girl who stole his pants?"

"No, no, no. Not her," Edward responds hastily, looking pissed.

"Sorry, bro. I thought you were looking for that one everywhere."

"Because I wanted my fucking pants back."

"Whatever. I just assumed …" Pete's shrugging his shoulders, not looking too apologetic. "I'll see you in the back in a bit?"

"Sure."

"You had a girl steal your pants? I mean, literally?" I ask him laughing, as Pete turns to walk away. "How did that happen? Do tell."

"It's nothing. Not really a story at all. I'm just going to drop this off in the back." He points at his guitar case, not looking at me. "Wait right here, okay?"

"Sure," I mumble, as I watch him disappear.

I don't have to wait long for Edward to come rushing back. Since he's playing, he gets the drinks for free, he explains, so he gets me a beer before vanishing again, saying "sorry" and "I'll be back soon."

With my bottle in hand, I glance around the run-of-the-mill dirty bar with a small stage in the back until my eyes land on a guy in a suit. He stands out against the jeans & t-shirt crowd with fedoras and beanies and the hair color looks oddly familiar. It doesn't take me long to recognize him as the herbal medicine man who made a home delivery to our place not too long ago.

When he catches me staring, Jasper walks right up to me. "Hey, friend-of-Rosi's. How have you been?"

"Not too bad. Can't complain. And my name is Bella, by the way," I say, reaching out my hand. "What brings you to this place tonight?"

He takes his grey suit jacket off, revealing a shirt so white it might blind, and leans next to me against the brick wall. "Well, it appears I'm here to enjoy some live music. Hopefully sooner rather than later, since, you know," he winks at me, "the city never sleeps and business's calling."

"I see. Business is good, huh?"

"Yep," he starts and then his voice shifts as he adds dryly, "that and I have a presentation for my Managerial Economics class to finish that's due tomorrow."

"Ahhh, I see. I didn't know that you had a second gig. What school?"

"NYU. Surprised?"

"No. Not really." I shake my head, though I do find the combination strange –MBA student by day, drug dealer by night. "Have you heard the band before?"

"No, but the frontman is good friend of mine, so I know they've potential."

"Wait, you know Edward?"

"Yeah, we went to high school together. Go figure. Not even a month in New York, and already a devoted following from the opposite sex. I have to say, I envy him in that department."

"Oh, please. I'm not his groupie. He dragged me here," I snap. I'm starting to get annoyed at Jasper and more so at myself. Edward's possibly a player and I apparently walked squarely into his trap.

"Well, then I apologize. You must be an exception. Usually he doesn't have to resort to dragging girls to his concerts. Trust me, I speak from experience."

I roll my eyes at him. "Whatever. Is he any good?"

"Oh, he's good," Jasper adds just as the band walks on stage. I watch as Eli, aka pudgy Kurt, plugs in his bass, and the tall blonde and Edward grab their guitars. Pete sits behind a drum set.

Once they start playing, I can't help but agree with Jasper's assessment. He's good. Very indeed. And now that the obvious has been pointed out to me, I also notice that the audience's at least seventy percent female and their eyes, for sure, are all focused on him.

But what makes the band good, is not the lead singer by himself (even as good as he is), but it's the blonde in combination with him. The sound of her mellow, deep voice during a chorus, the way she stands next to him, almost as tall as him, their shoulders touching on occasion … it's like perfect stage chemistry.

I watch them with a tinge of envy. They seem perfect, almost magical, from afar.

By the time they finish playing their set, I'm tempted to leave, get out of there. There's barely any air to breathe for me or at least that's what it feels like. Yet, I wait, frozen in place next to Jasper, who's busy typing away on his phone.

My heart starts beating faster when I see Edward coming out of the door in the back, but so do others and before I make up my mind on whether to stay or to run, he's surrounded by three guys and at least five girls.

"See." Jasper elbows me, laughing. "What did I tell you?" He points his chin into Edward's direction.

"Yeah, no doubt," I mumble. "Listen, I'm gonna head out of here."

"Wait, I'll walk you home. I only promised to come for the show, not for the after-party."

Once outside, I inhale deeply, pull my jacket on and wrap my scarf around me tightly.

"So, where's your roommate tonight?" Jasper asks, walking next to me and tapping a pack of Dunhills, before opening them and lighting two.

"Who? Rose?" I take the cigarette he's offering. He shakes his head. "Oh, you mean Alice?"

"Yeah, I've seen Rose this morning."

"Delivery?"

"Yep, plus I had to help her pack it up for transatlantic traffic."

"Right. Riley went to Paris. Well, I hope he gets caught," I add, feeling sour and not only about Riley.

"He might. I told her to tuck it into a bag of coffee beans and then into cream container, but it's not foolproof."

"What?" he asks when I don't respond.

"Nothing. I'm just wondering if counseling for oversees travel is included with the purchase or do you have to pay extra for that?" I grin at him. Talking to him is a good distraction. I don't have to think and question what just happened inside that bar.

"Strictly speaking, I don't provide counseling services of any kind, but Rose was about to just stuff it into Riley's socks."

"God, don't tell me she's packing his luggage now, too?"

"I'm afraid that's what it looked like it when I was at the studio," he answers, giving me a sympathetic smile.

"This is me," I say, pointing at the building behind me.

"I know."

"So, thanks for walking me home." I turn to unlock the front door.

"Is Alice home?"

"Um, I don't think so," I answer, looking over my shoulder at him. He looks sweet, even if a bit overdressed. "She's at a book party." No need to blow some else's bubble tonight.

"Oh, well. Have a good night then."

"Yeah, night," I say, unlocking the door.

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><p><strong>So tell me, do you think Edward's a player?<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos. You know the drill.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>15. Sunday January 15, 2012 at 3:15 PM<p>

_Whitney Museum of American Art _

"I wanted to talk to you about something," he says.

"Mmmh," is my only response, too lazy to say more.

The middle aged Italian couple next to us is staring at a painting of a nude woman.

The couple's cute, but it's the woman in the painting that catches my eye. She's standing, cigarette in hand, facing a window, seemingly not caring who's watching, not ashamed of who she is. I can't tell whether she's old or young. Her physique is athletic, but her body's not flawless beauty, the painting no ode to the female form. I envy her self confidence, standing in the middle of the room without running for cover.

"Since we're getting serious, I think it's important that I share this with you." My eyes fly from the painting to Michael. We're alone in the room, everybody else has moved on.

The word "serious" echoes in my head, but my brain can't form a response.

He smiles at me, his cheeks suddenly too full and his eyes too droopy.

"I've struggled with an eating disorder since my freshmen year in college," he continues, the earnest expression of a three-year-old boy on his face. "Bulimia, to be specific."

I stare at him, wondering whether _he's s_erious.

"If you're not familiar with the disease-"

"No! Um, I mean, yes, I'm familiar."

"You see, I was an overweight child. Dr. Banner thinks I was looking for a substitute of motherly affection by eating. My mother went out a lot, attending social functions and I was often left in the care of a nanny."

"Dr. Banner … your shrink?"

"My psychoanalyst."

"I see," I say, trying my best to maintain a blank expression on my face. I'm not sure how to react. Part of me wants to burst out laughing; the other just wants to run, out of the museum, into the next cab and home where I can hide underneath a cover. "So you were fat?"

"Yes," he laughs nervously, "you could say that."

"Do you still do it? Actually, never mind. Don't answer that."

"It's okay." His clammy fingers reach for mine. I want to pull my hand away, but then think it would be an asshole thing to do, so I don't.

We leave the museum and have dinner a small Italian place. Michael barely eats and I feel bad, which is why I let him touch me. It seems like his confession triggered something, loosened his inhibitions, and suddenly his hands are everywhere - stroking my legs, groping my side, playing with my hair.

"I think I'm going to head home," I tell him around ten o'clock as we stroll down Third Avenue, after he's just finished telling me a story about his third nanny who used to bribe him with chocolate kisses to keep him from crying when his mom went out.

"Walk home with me. I'll go get my car and drive you," he offers, pulling my back flush against his front while we wait for the traffic light to turn green. His coat is open and mine not thick enough to cover the distinct feeling of something poking me in the backside.

"No, it's okay. The subway's one block away." I wiggle myself out of his embrace. No sob stories of long dead pets or of parental neglect will get me to go to his place tonight.

"You could just stay the night and go to work from my place tomorrow."

I don't know why he's suddenly so eager. Despite his hands everywhere, he still hasn't kissed me properly.

"I've to go home and change, but thanks for the offer."

He pulls me back into his arms and kisses me. It's wet and sloppy and ends with a whimper from him.

~o0o~

I sigh in relief when I get home.

"That bad, huh?" Rose's sitting at the kitchen table, smoking.

"I could ask you the same." She kills the cigarette in a can.

"You're right. I think I'm at a pack a day now, all because of Riley."

"Isn't he still in Paris?"

"Yeah, but he calls at least 15 times a day, so it's almost as bad as if he were here. Never mind that. How was the date?"

"Don't ask. Did you ever hear about a guy having bulimia?"

"Nope. Doesn't mean that it's not possible." She scrunches up her face and then laughs. "Don't tell me your date's a bulimic? Hilarious!" She's slapping her thighs. "Is he going to ask you to come to an eating disorders anonymous meeting with him?"

"Dude, it's not funny," I start to admonish her, but then can't help but join in with her. "By the way, I always thought bulimics just eat a lot and then barf it up, but he just doesn't eat."

"I've no idea. Why don't you ask him?"

"I'd rather not. Where's Alice?"

"With the pussy magician," she says. "By the way, I ran into Jasper. He mentioned something about his friend being disappointed because you ditched his gig early." She's one eyebrow raised and a smirk playing on her lips.

"Really?"

"Don't look at me for more information. That's all he said." She shakes her head and disappears into the bathroom.

_Edward. _

I think about him, day dreaming at work or at night in my bed. His face, his smile, the way he shrugs his shoulders, the little wrinkles that form around his eyes…and the girl.

But in the mornings, on my way to the train, I make sure I walk the extra block to avoid running into him, or even just seeing him through the window in the coffee shop.

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><p><strong>Horrible Dates: Part II :)<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

16. Wednesday, January 18, 2012 at 8:05 AM

_At home_

"Bella, do you remember where you put my cream sweater?"

I'm ready to go, door handle in hand, and tempted to ignore her, pretend I didn't hear her.

"I put it back in your dresser!"

"I can't find it," Rose yells. She never can.

Already dressed in my coat, I take the two steps back into our bedroom, expecting to find the sweater just where I put it, but I don't. I open up the other drawers without much success of finding the missing sweater. I swear I put it back and Rose insists she didn't take it out until I find it in her laundry bag with a ketchup stain on it.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I forgot. I wore it two days ago," she mumbles.

In a rush and with sweat already dripping, I sprint out the door and take the shortest route to the train without much thought about where that will lead me until I see _him_.

I catch myself just in time. "Good morning," I say with a smile on my face like I'm cool about running into him. It's silly really. I feel like I'm a freshmen in high school crushing on a senior, too shy and insecure to really own up to it. He doesn't need to know I've been avoiding him, walking an extra block in the morning. He's leaning against the wall near the door to the shop dressed in jeans, t-shirt and a hoodie.

I'm envious. I'm wearing clothes I hate. Boring black pants and a grey sweater—all because Heidi doesn't want me to wear jeans.

"Hey," he greets me back with his usual big grin on his face as I pass.

I'm tempted to stop, but I don't. What's the point after all?

"Wait," he yells. "Hang on a minute."

"I don't have time. I'm late," I say as lightheartedly as I can muster, turning my head briefly, but continuing to march straight ahead.

"Okay," he follows me, walks next to me, coffee cup in hand, "I'll walk you. So why didn't you wait for me the other night?"

"Um, I had to get up the next morning," I start and then blurt out, "and besides, you seemed kind of busy."

"Well, I was. I was looking for you for about half an hour after we finished playing."

"Well, that's sweet, but I'm really, _really _late," I say, not able to hide the sarcasm. We've reached the stairs to the subway entrance. "So if you don't mind? I mean I really have to go."

It's not a lie.

"Listen." He grabs my arm before I can flee. I like him and talking to him makes me nervous and probably say things I shouldn't. "What are you doing tonight?"

_Watching TV and ordering take-out, if you don't ask me out._

"I don't know," I hedge. "Why?"

It's a stupid game. I'm tired of playing it. I've played it one too many times before.

"Do you wanna have dinner tonight? At my place." His cheeks are turning pink. "Well, it's technically not my place. I'm just staying on Jasper's sofa for the time being, but he's usually not home. He's some kind of study group …" he rambles on.

"You live with Jasper?"

_Great, his roommate is a drug dealer. _

He shrugs his shoulder. "Yeah, he told me he's friends with one of your friends." I nod. "Small world."

"Yep, indeed."

"So what's your number? I'll text you the address. Around eight o'clock. Does that work for you?" He fumbles, picks out an old, beat-up phone from the pocket of his jeans.

I know I shouldn't. I can't let this go anywhere. And if do, I'll be paying for it later. Rose will be on to me, sniffing it out before I even get a taste of it. And she'd be right.

Yet, like a complete fool, I give him my number.

**Happy? :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos. You know the drill.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>17. Wednesday January 18, 2012 at 12:15 PM<p>

_At the Volturi Literary Agency._

"Bella, this needs to be done by the end of the week." Heidi drops a large file folder on my desk where it lands with a thud. "It should've been finished earlier," she adds with a whiff of condescension to her voice.

Instead of a responding, I smile at her until she struts away in her over-the-knee boots that seem to be pinching her thighs and then check my phone _again_.

_Bella,_

_I've made reservations at Le Bernadin for Friday night. Alice and Tyler will joins us. Pick you up from the office at seven?_

_Michael_

I ponder briefly why he makes reservations at pricey restaurants when he doesn't eat. But with the sudden onslaught of butterflies in my stomach, who cares about food anyway?

As I toss the BlackBerry to the side, ignoring his e-mail, it starts buzzing again.

"B, I need to ask you for a favor?" Rose asks.

"Sure," I answer unenthusiastically though I'm slightly less mad at her for making me run late this morning.

"Riley needs me to run out for some stuff and I'm supposed to call Fekkai at twelve thirty so I can I can get my hair done as a model-"

"I'll call pretending to be you."

"Yes, please. Thank you, B."

I spend the next hour and a half listening to elevator music interrupted intermittently by a "Hold please" until a girl with a high pitched voice announces, "The salon can only offer you one of the model spots if you have at least shoulder length hair and are flexible about styling and coloring suggestions. Are you fine with that?"

"Yes," I answer and make the appointment, assuming Rose knows the drill that comes with getting your hair done at a top salon with one of their apprentices (you're at their mercy).

Around two thirty, I take a brief trip to the deli around the block for a salad, carrying my phone in hand.

By three o'clock, I'm still staring at the phone, only half paying attention to the pile of paperwork in front of me, willing it to ring. And eventually it does. To my disappointment, the caller ID informs me it's my mom.

Before I can say anything, she wails dramatically, "Bella, have you met her?"

"Have I met who?"

"Your father's girlfriend, that's who!" I'm stunned into silence. My parents have been divorced for as long as I can remember, yet to the best of my knowledge my father has never dated anyone.

"No, I haven't. How do you know?"

"I called him to ask whether I could borrow his car. I've been meaning to take a trip with …" She stumbles, possibly realizing for the first time the audacity of asking to borrow her ex-husband's car to take a trip with her latest boy-toy. "Well, you know who. Anyway, this woman picks up the phone and when I ask him about her, he tells me that it's his girlfriend. Are you sure you haven't met her?"

I can hear her breathing, practically hyperventilating. Clearly, she's upset, though I'm not sure why.

"Nope. Can't say that I have. Why are you so upset about it?" I'm curious about who my father could be dating, but as I let the news settle in, I realize I'm happy for him. I always harbored feelings of guilt for not visiting him often enough, that he's lonely and sometimes looks sad, and now he's found someone, so that has to be a good news.

"I just can't believe it … it's just not like him, you know?" I think I can almost detect a quiver in her voice, like she's about to start bawling.

"I know, mom. But look at it from the bright side—now you can stop worrying about him." As long as I can remember, she's been fretting when I spent Thanksgiving at her house because, as she used to say, "Your poor father doesn't have anyone else."

"She sounded young. I just don't want him to get taken advantage of," she continues as if she's not just doing _that _on a still regular basis. "Can't you go by his house and see how he's doing?"

"Fine, mom. I gotta go, but I'll visit him when I have a chance."

"Maybe tonight?"

"I can't tonight. Maybe over the weekend, okay? I'll talk to you later," I say and hang up quickly, knowing that my mother with her penchant for drama will talk my ear off for the next hour and half if I don't cut this short.

When it hits five-thirty, I give up on trying to focus on anything work related and head home, hoping that by the time I get off the train I'll have a message waiting for me.

But I don't.

I walk by the coffee shop wondering whether he'd still be there.

He's not.

A red headed girl is standing behind the counter.

"Was Heidi a real bitch today?" Alice asks when I get home, the disappointment slowly settling in and already showing on my face.

"Not more than usual." I slump down on the kitchen chair wondering whether I should just give up hope and order take out.

"Just one of those days, huh?"

"Yeah," I say, itching to share my boy dilemma with her, but that would only get me into trouble I realize staring at _that _section of our new rules on the fridge.

"Can you e-mail Michael back? He's already been whining about not hearing back from you."

"Jeez." I haven't even thought about the invite until now.

"Yeah, tell me about it. So insecure." She rolls her eyes.

"I think I'm going to cancel. I'm not in the mood."

"Why?" She sits down across from me, looking concerned. "What happened?"

"Honestly? I'm just not that into him. Actually, not at all. So why bother?"

"Can you just come along tomorrow? Please?"

"Ugh, Alice. If you can't stand to have dinner with Tyler alone after two weeks, how are you going to stick with him in the long run?" I tell her.

"Well … I don't know." She shrugs her shoulders and pouts. "It's not like there's anybody else and Tyler's nice enough. Plus, he always pays. I know it makes me sound like a horrible person … but I just don't know how to say no to him. And, Bella, his mom? She's like the sweetest person ever. And his dad is a professor. His whole family's perfect. She's promised to introduce me to some designers and-"

"So what? You're dating him to get ahead?" I tease her.

"God, do you have to be so harsh? No, like I said, he's nice. And how many nice guys are there?"

"You're right, I guess. I'm only kidding anyway. If Michael's dad was a senior editor at Simon & Schuster, I'd probably try harder, too."

"So can you come along? You can dump him in person right after."

"I don't know … I'll think about it?" I hedge despite the fact that I really don't even want to. A small flame of hope that Edward will call is still burning.

"Thanks," Alice says when my phone finally buzzes and an unfamiliar number flashes on the screen.

"Hey," I answer, getting up and rushing out of the room and into the bathroom for some privacy.

"Hey. It's Edward."

I chuckle, not noticing the tentative tone, the hesitation in his voice.

"I'm sorry about not getting in touch earlier and I'm even more sorry to do this so late, but can we move dinner to Sunday night instead of today? It's just Eli finally got call backs from some bars and scheduled us for some gigs. I thought I could get out of it at first when I found out this afternoon, but I just can't," he rattles off.

"Sure. Whatever." I know my tone is clipped, but I can't help it. I'm mad.

"Shit. You're pissed. I'm sorry."

I don't respond. It's too early to have a fight like that.

"Bella?"

"Yes, Edward."

I'm getting more annoyed by the second.

"So Sunday?"

"Look, I'm not pissed," I lie calmly. "Next time just tell me earlier?"

"Okay, I'll see you on Sunday?"

"Fine. I gotta go."

"Okay. I'm sorry," he says again, his voice kind of low, and I hang up.

"Alice?"

"Yeah?" She's turning to look up at me from her spot on the bed watching TV when I walk into her room.

"I'll come along tomorrow night." I slump down next to her and grab a hand full of microwave popcorn sitting in a bag on her lap.

"Thank you." She returns her focus to the rerun of Project Runway. "By the way, who was that?"

"No one."

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><p>:(<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

**iambeagle does her best to spot typos. You know the drill.**

**I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>18. Wednesday January 18, 2012 at 10:30 PM<p>

_At home._

"Rose?" I yell when the front door opens, hoping that she'll show her appreciation for getting her that sought-after appointment at Fekkai's by fetching me a drink from the kitchen.

She doesn't respond, rushing straight into the bathroom instead.

"Rose? Are you okay?" I tap the bathroom door left ajar lightly.

"No!" she yells. A high-pitched wail and then low whimpers follow, prompting me to enter the bathroom. Considering the sounds she's making, I fully expect her to be seriously sick or experiencing some true tragedy along the lines of a death in the family.

But I realize the minute I see her sitting on the toilet seat still dressed in her coat with her head in her hands that no one has died and she's not exactly sick, though she'd seriously argue that it's just as bad, worse even. It's her hair—it's bright red. Fire engine red.

"Shit. You agreed to this?" I mumble, not sure how to console her at first.

"Not really." She tucks some toilet paper from the roll standing on the bathtub and wipes her nose. "One of the teaching stylist suggested red instead of blond, saying that blond bleaches out my complexion," she yammers, rolling her red, puffy eyes at me. "And then, before I could protest, the guy smeared the stuff on my head. I thought they knew what they were doing!"

"Did you complain afterwards? I mean, if you hate it, they should fix it." Knowing Rose, the question's superfluous.

"Those fucking bastards said they can't. Can you believe it? If they'd try to make me a blonde again, my hair would basically break off. They offered to dye it brown instead." Another eye roll, some more tears and a somber sob follow.

"Well, it doesn't look that bad, really," I say even though the color's too bright, too shrill for comfort, and doesn't do her complexion any favors. The blotches appearing on her cheeks and the snot hanging from her nose don't exactly help either.

"I look …" she gets up and looks at her reflection in the mirror, "atrocious. Horrible. Hideous."

"It's not that bad." I pat her on the shoulder.

"Oh My GOD! What happened to you?" Alice loud voice echoes in the bathroom. "That hair color … horrible. I hope you didn't pay for that." She steps closer, her face scrunched up in revulsion, as I poke her with my elbow trying to get her to shut up to avoid further damage.

~o0o~

_Thursday January 19, 2012 at 7:30 AM._

"Rose, aren't you gonna get up?"

"I'm sick." I hear her pull up some snot, cough and turn to the wall.

I'd be sick too, if my hair looked like that. I mean, I feel for her, I really do.

With a sigh, I sit down on the corner of the bed. "Listen, I can call salon again, pretend to be you … somehow try to make them fit you in. Maybe brown would be better."

"Bella." She turns, coughs and peeks up at me from below the cover. "I'm fucking sick."

I touch her forehead lightly, confirming that it's hot and clammy. "Shit. I'll bring you some NyQuil when I come back," I say and get up to go to work.

The fact that Edward's not at the coffee shop as I walk by leaves me more disappointed than it should considering he ditched me last night.

And then later, alone in my dreary, grey cubicle, I spend an inordinate amount of time staring at my phone instead of doing something productive. Heidi's attending some conference in Boston and I know now is as good a time as any to start looking for a new job. Yet, I don't. Instead, I keep glancing at it. It seems like a waste of time since he didn't say he'd call today or even tomorrow. And even if he did, he apparently isn't one to stick to what he says. Still. I hope, no wish for it. It's stupid really. More stupid than liking him in the first place.

The manuscript I've pulled out of the closet this morning does truly nothing to improve my mood. A sordid tale of rather mousy gal falling for the great man whore who sleeps with every other girl in town while she pines for him. Secretly, of course he's head over heels for her and is just unable to convey his true emotions. I toss that one aside quickly, not in the mood for impossible romance or fairy tales.

The next one isn't much better—neither in terms of getting me closer to my goal of unearthing something that I could sell nor in finding adequate distraction from my quiet phone. A memoir written by a girl molested by her stepfather, hoodwinked by her shrink, and in love with someone just as screwed up she is. It's all too much drama to digest without tossing your cookies. The fact that she starts powdering her nose every chance she gets, doesn't exactly lighten the subject matter. Lesson learned after a hundred or so pages: life could be infinitely worse.

When I get home at night, I find Emmett in our kitchen cooking something that smells like chicken soup.

"How could you leave her alone like that?" He's standing in front of a stove with an apron around his waist. All sorts of vegetables, a bag of noodles and an unfamiliar knife with a cutting board are scattered around the table. An involuntary smile appears on my face despite his obnoxious tone.

"Why? I'm not sure me staying home would've made her feel better. It's just a cold. I bought her some NyQuil. You know you could've just ordered chicken rice soup from the Chinese place down the block. I bet it'd be cheaper and quicker," I add grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge.

"This will be better for her. She doesn't have a cold ... more like a bad case of the flu. You know you guys can call me if you ever need help with anything, right?"

"Sure thing, mom," I mutter under my breath, walking away to check in on Rose.

"I heard that!"

"Good."

Turns out he didn't exaggerate. She looks like shit with her newly dyed red mess matted around her head and all color drained from her face.

"How are you feelin'?"

"Like shit. But I'll survive so feel free to ignore Emmett. He's been bugging me for the past three hours or so. Must not have any dogs to take care off."

"Well, it's kinda sweet though, no?"

"Oh, please. It's annoying, that's what it is," she snaps, pulling the cover up to her chin.

At night, trying to fall asleep in Alice's bed to avoid catching Rose's bug, I envy Rose. Not for that dreadful flu she caught or the red hair. And even for Emmett per se. More like, I envy her for having someone. She might not realize how nice it is of him to look after her, or maybe she does and just doesn't want to show it. Either way, I wish someone would be as concerned for me when I'm sick. Sure, Charlie would be worried and Rose and Alice would care, but that's not the same, is it?

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><p><strong>Any hair disasters to share? Thank you for reading. <strong>


	19. Chapter 19

**E by popular demand.**

**iambeagle checked for typos.**

**I don't own Twilight. No shit. **

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><p>19. Friday January 20, 2012 10:00PM<p>

_Near the corner of 6th Avenue and 51st Street._

"So ... what's wrong?" he asks with a casual tone to his voice. His body language betrays him; he's fidgeting with his hands, his eyes darting from spot to spot, never daring to settle on me. Nervousness, insecurity emanating from every gesture, the eye contact he can't make.

"Nothing." I shrug my shoulders, force a smile on my face. "Why?"

"You seem kind of distant … quiet, I guess."

"I'm just tired."

It's true. I am tired. Alice tossed and turned last night, which kept me up as much as Rose's cough in the bedroom next to us. Worse though, I feel lonely. Like, really lonely. Alice left the restaurant with Riley, and Emmett's hovering over Rose, trying to get her to drink herbal teas she's been refusing to even smell.

My phone has been silent, except for Renee calling to whine about Charlie.

"Yeah, I heard about your roommate being sick. I'm sorry." Michael's eyes finally settle on me. He feels bad, I can tell by that look. "How about, I get you a cab home," he offers, giving me a sympathetic smile, which makes me feel worse.

He flipped the bill at a pricey restaurant for a girl who can't get herself to care.

"It's okay. I can take the train." I stop him, feeling guilty enough as it is since I've no intention of seeing him again. I'm not even going to break it off. I was planning to just fade away.

"No, don't worry. Let me take care of it," he says and flags down a cab.

"No, really." I grab his arm. A yellow cab comes to a stop.

"Please," he pleads, biting his lips, scrunching his brows, which makes me feel like shit, makes me regret having accepting anything from him. "Just to make me feel better, please?"

I close my eyes, hoping he'll give up.

"Come on, Bella. You'll be home faster, it's late … really."

"Thanks," I mumble. He hugs me briefly, his hands rubbing my back trying to soothe me, but I'm a lost cause tonight or he's the wrong person. Either way, I feel pathetic for being such a whiny bitch.

"Hey, Bella?" He's holding the car door open, and his expression full of concern.

"Yeah?" I look up at him leaning on the open door.

"If you ever need to just talk or anything, I'm here, okay?"

"Thanks," I say, looking away when he hands the cab driver some cash and asks him whether that should cover the trip.

Traffic hasn't died down since rush hour and I very much doubt this is faster than the train, but you can't beat the comfort of sitting in car rather than on a plastic subway bench at night. I kick of my heels, rub my feet and I watch an ad for "Dream Water"—the water that will lull you to sleep—when my phone starts buzzing.

"Yes?" I answer the call from an unfamiliar number.

"Hey. It's Edward."

"Hey." I can feel my face stretch to a smile.

"What are you up to?"

"Not much. Going home as we speak."

"Sorry, again about canceling."

I don't want this to be awkward.

"It's okay. I understand. Bad timing. So … what are _you_ doing tonight?"

"I just arrived in Virginia."

"What? Why?"

He chuckles. "Lemme guess, you think there's no reason ever for anyone to leave the five boroughs, huh?"

"Don't make me a bad stereotype. But, well, now that you mention it, no, not really. Not to go to Virginia anyway. What exactly are you planning to do there?"

"Play two gigs and then come home," he pauses, "which is why I'm calling. I don't know when I'll be back Sunday."

"Listen," I sigh, "how about we play it by ear? Call me—if you like—when you're around."

"Sure."

"Break a leg," I say and wait for him to hang up.

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"What did you have for dinner tonight?"

"Do you really wanna know?" I'm pretty sure he doesn't. "You know it's okay to just hang up. I swear, I'm not mad at you."

"Yeah, I do. I don't want to hang up. Tell me. Anything. Really. Reading any good books lately?"

"Very funny. Ha, ha. Yeah, tons of good reading."

"The Tales of Mr. Winkie & The Drenched Panties?"

"Shut up!" I say, but can't stifle my laughter. "I'm not a smut aficionado, I swear."

"Okay." He's laughing, too.

"And I did have a nice dinner, by the way. Fancy and French."

"Oh la la. Sounds pricey."

"It was."

"Well, I can't compete with that. I don't do fancy or French, but I do make a really mean version of mac & cheese."

"Stop bragging. I believe it when I taste it."

The car comes to a stop in front of my house and the driver is trying to hand me back cash.

"Hang on a second," I mouth into the phone.

"Keep it," I tell the driver, leaving him a hefty tip from the money that's not mine, before getting out of the car.

"I'm back."

"Okay. And I will. Maybe even Sunday, if we don't get stuck in traffic."

"You rented a car?"

"Eli borrowed his parents' minivan. I think his kid brother puked in here."

"You're still driving?"

"No, we already checked into some motel, but I'm sitting in the van. It's a bit too chilly out. And the room … well, no privacy," he says as I open up the door to our apartment and I'm greeted with a retching sound.

"Shit," I murmur.

"What happened?"

I walk into the bathroom where I find Rose kneeling on the bathroom floor hovering over the toilet.

"I think it got worse. I swear it's Emmett's fucking soup!" she screeches.

"Hey. I think I gotta go," I tell Edward.

"Okay. Someone's riding the porcelain bus?"

"Huh?"

"Sick. Near the toilet, hopefully."

"Ah, yeah. Kind of."

"I'll let you go."

"Okay. Good night. Sweet dreams," I tell him with my stupid smile still on my face.

"You, too. Thanks for still talking to me."

"Don't be an idiot."

"No, I mean it. This … it's nice."

"Good night," I say and end the call.

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><p>:)<p> 


	20. Chapter 20

**iambeagle searched for typos.**

**I don't own twilight.**

**This chapter is not for the faint of heart. Consider yourself warned.**

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><p>20. Saturday, January 21, 2012<p>

_At a Community Health Clinic._

"Please don't hesitate to contact me, if you don't feel better by tomorrow," says the middle-aged, blond guy in a white coat to Rose while patting her arm gingerly in a too familiar fashion. "Here's my card with the number to my regular office."

"Thank you so much. I _really_ appreciate it. I'm sure, I'll be fine," she answers with a saccharine smile on her pale, tired face.

The dear doctor returns her smile with one of his own, showing off his perfectly bleached teeth as he leans closer, telling her in a low voice, "I mean it. Anything at all, call me."

"Wow, exceptional service, considering," I say as we step outside into the surprisingly mild January air.

"He was sooo nice." Swooning Rose hardly ever happens, so I'm caught off guard.

"Yeah … and old," I comment with an eye roll. He's well-maintained, but definitely too old to be fawned over.

"That's not what I meant. He volunteers here even though he doesn't have to."

"Ehm, it wouldn't be called volunteering if he had to, no?"

"Come on, B. He told me I could just come to his regular practice in Manhattan for a follow up, if I'm not feeling better. Don't you think that's really sweet?"

"Mmmh. Yeah. Though I'm not sure he's being so nice to all of his patients."

In fact, I'm pretty certain, the guy in the ratty clothes with the boil on his head, who sat next to us in the waiting area, will not get his card.

"Don't be so negative."

"Huhu." I keep my five cents worth of wisdom about how he appeared to be a little too concerned for comfort to myself and take Rose, who's spent half the night over the toilet barfing, back home before running back down to the pharmacy to fill her prescription.

After I administer Rose her meds, I shoo Emmett away—he's persona non-grata at this point (her decision, not mine)—for trying to cure her with his natural remedies, which, the doctor confirmed, might have only aggravated the bacterial infection she's apparently suffering from. It takes no small amount of arguing to make him leave, but eventually he does and I slouch back on Alice's bed and watch TV, feeling amazingly more content than in a long time despite an exhausting night.

Rose gets bored and comes crawling over soon after. I'm tempted to tell her to stay in the other room. Now is not the time for me to get sick and not only because of work, but I let it go. Our bedroom has no TV.

While watching a marathon session about trashy people living somewhere by the sea in Jersey, Alice prances butt naked into the room searching for presumably clothes.

"Shit, what is that?" she yelps, scratching her stomach.

"What?" I ask, while one of the dudes on TV throws a hissy fit about his ruined sneaker collection.

"This." She points at some area on her stomach.

"Come closer," Rose murmurs from her spot next to me.

With a towel wrapped around her hips, Alice takes the two steps to the bed.

"Here." Alice points to a section that just looks red near her hipbone. Rose furrows her brows and moves closer, inspecting the red blotches, then clasps her hand over her mouth, clearly to suppress laughter that nevertheless shortly after bubbles over, until she's turning red, coughing and laughing at the same time.

"What?" Alice demands, looking slightly annoyed.

Rose takes a minute to compose herself. "Look … does ...um...your crotch really itch?" The expression on Alice's face turns sour as realization hits her. "Because if it does, I think whoever you're hooking up with just gave you crabs."

"Eeeew!" I jump off not sitting another minute on her bed. "Gross. Alice?" I shoot her questioning glance.

"That motherf …" The color is drained from her face; she's fuming.

~o0o~

An hour later, Alice and I are in the waiting room at Planned Parenthood, waiting to see another doctor. Rose stayed behind. On the way over, we dropped off all the sheets and towels, in addition to our regular clothes, at the laundromat.

"I can't believe this idiot. Can you?" Alice fumes. When confronted with the likelihood of the infliction, Tyler claimed she must have gotten it from a subway train or the gym. "Does he think I'm stupid?"

"Maybe he doesn't know he has it?" I venture.

"Who cares? I'm not talking about that. Obviously he's too fucking disgusting to notice the symptoms. My point is, there's no way I got this from the subway train and I don't even have a gym membership."

"Yeah … gym—wasn't that part of our plan?"

"Forget about it. I asked at three different ones. Way too expensive." She sighs and leans back into her chair.

"Are you gonna see him again?"

"Are you crazy? Noooo! I don't even care how perfect his family is anymore. Forget about finding a guy. I think what I really need, is focus on getting a new job."

"Yeah … I guess you're right."

~o0o~

"And?" I ask when Alice walks out of the examining room. She just nods, confirming Rose's diagnosis.

As per the doctor's instructions, considering the close proximity we live in, we're all supposed to suffer through treatment to kill off not only the living bugs, but also any possible nits. Moreover, she strongly impressed on Alice the importance of containment. In other words, we're officially condemned to abstinence.

At home, Alice cleans obsessively for the rest of the night.

"What a lovely way to spend a Saturday night," I comment, digging into a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

"No, shit," Rose agrees. "Can't get any worse."

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><p><strong>Can it? :(<strong>


	21. Chapter 21

**iambeagle searched for typos.**

**I don't own twilight.**

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><p><strong>21. Sunday, January 22, 2012 at 2:00 PM<strong>  
><em><br>__At home._

_We're making it back in record speed. See you at 8 at Jasper's? E_

"Shit," I mumble when I read his message presenting me with a moral dilemma of sorts. I like him. But he's against the rules. Definitely. Plus, I can't even fall into bed with him.

"What?" Alice asks, looking up from her task of cleaning the oven, which none of us has ever used. Since we got home yesterday, the cleaning bug hasn't left her. The bathroom looks like it's been cleaned with a toothbrush and smells like bleach.

"Never mind." Usually I'd ask for her opinion, but now? I can hardly tell her I'm fretting about having dinner with a guy who's cute, but definitely underemployed and sleeping on his friend's sofa.

It's okay, I tell myself. Having dinner is completely harmless. After all, I've had dinner with Michael plenty of times and nothing much happened.

By seven forty-five, I'm on my way to Jasper's house, stopping briefly by the liquor store for a bottle of wine. Suffering from bouts of guilty conscience for violating all the rules, I buy one bottle instead of two. The less booze the less chance to give into temptation.

"Hey," he greets me at the door with his cheeks flushed, his hair a mess and a dish towel hanging over his shoulder. One look at him and it's crystal clear. I'm dead wrong. There's nothing harmless about having dinner with him.

"Here." I reach forward awkwardly with my mind in the gutter, handing him the wine, just as he steps closer.

"Thanks," he mumbles. "Come on in."

Entering Jasper's apartment, I'm a little astounded by what I find. Judging by the size and the decidedly not-purchased-at-Ikea look of the furnishings, his little business must be lucrative. Either that, or he has a nice stipend courtesy of his parents.

"Nice place," I say as I slip onto a barstool at the kitchen counter.

"Yeah, it's sweet, right?"

I nod and smile as he pours me a glass of wine, looking oddly at ease in the kitchen.

"So ... what's for dinner?"

"Mac & cheese, oven-fried chicken and salad. How was your weekend?"

I cough, almost spewing out wine. "Okay. And yours?"

"That good, huh? What did you do? Crash a wild party, get drunk and wake up at noon?" He has a cocky grin on his face as if he knows what I'm usually up to. Except he really doesn't. Obviously.

"Not so much. I mostly stayed in. How was Virginia?" I try to distract.

"Boring. And exhausting. The last bar we played in, a fuse kept on blowing. So yeah, it wasn't a great success or anything. Hell, it wasn't even fun. But wait." He furrows his brows, a bemused smirk still playing around his lips. "You expect me to believe you stayed in all weekend? What-watching TV?" He shakes his head, grabs the towel off his shoulder heading to the oven.

"What makes you think I'm such a party girl?"

He carries a huge baking dish filled with something hot and bubbling over to the counter and places it on the wooden board. "Well, you're pretty and young, always seem busy and on the run …"

His words are corny, but he's cute and I feel flattered.

"Gee, thanks," I say and smile. No need to enlighten him of my dismal party record of 2012 so far. From catching Jake hooking up with someone else to holding my roommates hair back while she barfs, it's really been great.

"So ... how's your roommate feeling?"

"Better. Thanks for cooking by the way."

Turns out he didn't exaggerate. His food is delicious, better than dinner on Friday night. I'm thinking it's not the food—but more so the company. We finish the bottle of wine and before I can stop him, he pulls another one out of Jasper's wine fridge. I duly note that none of my friends have those and how very bourgie I find it. He laughs, agreeing.

Over dinner, I learn that he was pre-med in college; his parents are still happily married living in the same small town he's from and that he definitely has a thing for Charles Bukowski. _Ham on Rye_is his favorite book he tells me. Go figure. The boy doesn't even swear.

"So what have you been up to … I mean, since graduating?" I ask when he doesn't volunteer the info.

"Not much." He gets up from his spot next to me, shrugs his shoulders and starts sorting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. "I sort of moved here to get out of the rut. Seattle was safe. Too safe."

"And New York's what? Dangerous?" I laugh.

"Okay. Maybe not the opposite. Let's say it's an experiment of sorts—to see whether I can make music my full time gig. If I fail, I'll just go back."

"You needed to be in New York for that?"

"Not really, but a couple of people from my band moved here … so it seemed like a good time to visit Jasper."

"So … that sofa there's your bed?" I ask and get up to help him with the dishes.

The kitchen is open and directly connected to a rather spacious living room, complete with a large sofa, a loveseat, a coffee table and an armchair, lending the place a grown-up feel that's lacking in ours completely.

"No. He has a small extra bedroom that I'm using. Just until I save up enough to move."

"No shit. Jasper's renting a two bedroom all by himself. Do his parents chip in?" Rose, Alice and I combined can barely afford the rent in our one bedroom apartment.

Edward laughs. "Not so much. I mean, it's not that they are rich. Jasper just works a lot. I assume the daytime job at a bank is paying well," he answers, refilling my glass.

"Yeah, right." I roll my eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He shoots me a questioning glance.

"Nothing," I fumble. "I mean, I'm sure his _other _business must bring in the some extra cash." I wink when I say business, but Edward doesn't seem to get my hint.

"I'm really not sure what you're talking about."

"You know ..." I don't know why I just don't say it. "His gig as Mr. Dime-O-Weed," I finally bring out.

He shakes his head as if he doesn't have a clue and then he confirms it, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Wait. What?" I stare at him and he stares right back. I think I might have pissed him off. "You don't know that he moonlights as a pot dealer?"

"Like I said, I don't know what you're talking about," he says through gritted teeth.

I keep quiet, unsure how to dig myself out of the hole I've inadvertently stumbled into. _Who the hell cares what Jasper does for a living?_

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading:)<strong>


	22. Chapter 22

**iambeagle searched for typos. I totally owe her. **

**I don't own twilight.**

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><p><strong>22. Sunday January 22, 2012 around 10:30PM<strong>

_On Jasper's sofa_.

I shift in my spot on the leather sofa, making a disturbingly loud squeaking sound in the process.

The night can't get any more awkward even if I tried.

Barely listening to Meryl's excellent British accent, I stare at the flat-screen TV attempting to follow _The Iron Lady_ and failing miserably. Every five minutes my eyes wander to Edward. I don't get why he's so ticked off at me. And he is _definitely _ticked off.

"No. Why would I be?" he lied when I asked him if he was mad at me. Yet, he's barely uttered more than two sentences since I mentioned Jasper's little side business, only asked if I wanted to watch a movie.

_Margaret is hallucinating, I think. But who cares?_

I chance a glance in his direction again. Not much has changed. He's slouched at the other end of the sofa with his head propped up on his hand, eyes focused on the screen and brows furrowed in concentration—concentration that I can't seem to muster.

At this rate, there's no danger I'll have sex with him. He's keeping his distance and I'm not daring to move closer. I would have been tempted if he hadn't started acting all funny. Who am I kidding? I'm still tempted, but right now I fear he might actually shove me away with force.

My eyes flick back to the screen.

"I think I'm totally over British period pieces," I comment in a light tone, hoping he'll respond. He doesn't though. Just stares straight ahead and ignores me. And that does it. The small sense of dignity that usually only rears its head when it's way overdue, i.e. after a night of bad sex and too much to drink, starts nagging me early, telling me it's time to throw in the towel. At least for tonight.

"Listen, I think I'm going to get going. It's late …"

_It really isn't._

He doesn't look up, bat an eye or even acknowledge my presence, so I get up.

"Where are you going?" His head snaps up.

_Finally. __  
><em>  
>"Umm ... yeah, home," I answer, feeling like an idiot.<p>

"Oh," is all he says, not bothering to get up, which makes me feel like my discount pumps.

Just what my ego needed—a guy who loses interest after one real date. Rose would have walked out of here about an hour ago when he first started acting all weird. Alice would stick it out longer though, always desperately hoping to catch a good one, if not The One—or the imaginary one, as I like to call him. But I can't. I feel pathetic as it is.

I linger for a minute longer, shifting from foot to foot. When his eyes return to the TV, I grab my coat and walk. The pint glass of humiliation is filled to the brim; it's all I can swallow in one night.

"Good night," I say loudly as I open the door and close it behind me.

Fine, I think as I stomp down the stairs huffing in anger, I really don't need this shit.

Still, there's this tiny-weenie part of me—and I hate that part—that feels almost sad, like I've just lost out on some grand prize, something I'll never get the chance to claim again, and all because of my big mouth. It's fucking stupid to think that. After all, nothing I said was so bad as to merit his disproportionate response.

He's an asshole and I was a sucker.

Whipping my scarf around my neck, I start marching toward home. I'm halfway down the block when I hear someone calling my name. It's him. He's sprinting down the street to where I'm standing.

"What?" I'm a little pleased that he ran after me, but not quite ready to let him off the hook without at least a little bit of groveling. He deserves it.

"I'm sorry." He grabs his hair and tugs it. "I didn't know..."

I wait for something more, some kind of explanation, but nothing follows.

"What? That Jasper's dealing?" He looks away, buries his hands in his pockets and shrugs. I don't quite get it; don't get him—at all. He seems seriously distraught; it makes no sense to me.

"Well … yeah. It's just … I can't … I simply can't believe it," he finally brings out.

"You don't believe _me_?" He shrugs his shoulders again. The boy can't seem to make up his mind. Everything's a shrug. "Really? Well, why don't you ask him yourself?" I snap.

"I will. I just can't believe he'd do something so stupid."

Jasper doesn't strike me as stupid. Working forty hours a week for a pittance like me seems the dumber choice.

"I don't think it's such a big deal," I say instead, trying my best to sound understanding and calm like the shrink I used to see. For a second, I contemplate confessing that I sold my Adderall during freshman year. I'd even faked my problems concentrating just to get the prescription. Something tells me he wouldn't appreciate my honesty.

"I'm not sure I agree." His jaw tenses and he narrows his eyes on me, like somehow I'm to blame for this. "Do you know how disappointing this will be for his parents when they find out?"

"How would his parents find out? I mean, unless you tell them—and why would you wanna do that?" I'm tempted to roll my eyes. The more he tells me, the less he makes sense. If my dad, the ex-cop, knew of all my shenanigans, he'd suffer a coronary. And that's surely not what Edward would want for Jasper's parents.

"How can I not?" he yells, staring at me with an incredulous expression on his face as if I'd just suggested he let his friend get away with murder. "They live next door to my parents."

"It's just pot. It's not like he's a crack dealer. And he does have some classy clientele," I say, feeling almost bad for Jasper because of the shitstorm that's about to be unleashed on him and all because yours-truly couldn't keep her trap shut.

"I can't believe you're saying this." He shakes his head and that does it.

"You know what I can't believe? That you're acting like such a dick. Hello, it's not my fault that you didn't know." I turn on my heel and walk. He makes no attempt follow.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading :) Hope you guys are having a better weekend than dear Bella.<br>**


	23. Chapter 23

**iambeagle searched for typos. I totally owe her. **

**I don't own twilight.**

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><p><strong>23. Sunday, January 22, 2012 around 11:15 AM.<strong>**  
><strong>  
><em>At home. <em>

"Bella! Just in time," Alice greets me loudly as I walk into the kitchen.

From what I can gather, she's finished cleaning the apartment; even the floor that's normally littered with dust bunnies and dirt is shiny, and the air's so thoroughly drenched with the pungent aroma of cleaning supplies that my nose starts to itch.

"In time for what?" I ask, annoyed that they're up and drinking.

"We're going out," Rose announces, standing in the door, her pale face covered in makeup—the complete works: eyeliner, mascara, lipstick & rouge.

"You're sick," I tell her. A quick recovery after a night hunched over the toilet and a temperature of a hundred and one seems highly unlikely.

"I'm much better." Her lips are pressed together in a tight line, as if she's still trying hard to keep her food down.

She doesn't look it at all. Better, that is. I take a swig of Alice's beer and start shrugging my coat off, not planning on going anywhere.

"No! You're coming with us," Alice says, pulling my coat back up. "We need a girls' night out."

Alice is wide awake, practically bouncing off the walls.

"Yeah, you're coming." Rose inspects me carefully, making me squirm.

"Fine," I relent. If I don't go with the flow, there'll be questions. Questions I don't feel like answering. "Where're we going?"

"Some party. It's at some loft James Franco rents. The chick that's throwing it went with Leah to Barnard. I think you know her. Remember, the girl with the pink hair? I think she was a Women's Studies major. Anyway, she knows him. I think they went to high school together," Alice rattles on. She's definitely high.

I don't remember anyone with pink hair.

I think Alice may have lost her marbles.

Rose just shrugs her shoulders.

"Are you sure you're okay to go out?" I stare at her, detecting a tinge of green under cakey beige.

"I'm fine. It's _that_one you have to worry about." She nods in Alice's direction; she's halfway out the door already. "Let's go."

~o0o~

"I doubt James Franco would rent this," I say as we climb up the steep stairs in a dark hallway. "There's not even heat in this building."

"Come on, you didn't believe that." Rose is laughing hard.

"Nope. I'm just saying." I hoof up the last few steps. Okay. Maybe I did.

As we enter the loft, Rose spots a guy who she thinks works for Valentino or maybe Escada.

"Either way. I should network," she says.

"Remember the doctor's orders," Alice reminds her with a serious expression on her face.

Rose turns to her with a sigh and says,"He's gay, Alice. And I'm not you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alice mumbles, looking offended. Rose ignores her and walks off to the guy dressed in a pink shirt and wearing sunglasses.

"Do you think I'm a slut?" Alice asks with wide innocent eyes and blinks at me.

"What? No!" I tell her and go searching for some beer. I find a kitchen equipped with the same ugly brown cabinetry as the one in our apartment and search the sink filled with icy water for a beer.

"Bella," someone with whiskey on his breath whispers in my ear. I straighten up and find Emmett standing next to me.

"Emmett. What's up? Don't tell me. You were looking for James Franco too."

He wrinkles his forehead, looks confused. "Nope. Not really. How's Rose feeling?"

"You can go ask her that herself. She's right over there."

"Where? Here?" He points to the floor like an idiot. I walk to a spot from where he can see her and nod in her direction. "Shit. She's better?"

"A little bit, I guess. But like I said, go ask her yourself."

I slouch down on a couch in the corner and he decides to follow me.

"I don't think that's a good idea. She's mad at me." He shakes his head of brown locks, looking like a forlorn grown toddler with his snug fitting shirt and cargo pants, and slumps down next to me.

"Sorry," I offer and I truly am.

"Yeah, me too." He shoots me a sad smile. "So what have you been up to lately?"

"Not much." And then I can't help myself. I have to tell somebody. "I … kinda had a fight with a guy I like."

"Man trouble, huh?" He chuckles and hands me a pill. "Take this. I swear, it will make you feel better." I take the pill and wash it down with beer. This is Emmet after all; the health freak who makes chicken noodle soup from scratch, all with organic ingredients, and who swears by herbal tinctures to cure all ails. This has to be an herbal remedy. Completely harmless. "Now, tell me what happened," he instructs.

"I don't know. He's an ass. I don't know why I bothered."

"Do I know him?" he asks, pulling out a bag of Three Castles and rolling a cigarette. I watch him fumble with his big fingers, before taking the paper and the tobacco away and rolling it for him.

"I doubt it. Not that it matters anyway." I start feeling oddly mellow, detached and not really caring as I hand him his cigarette. "It's not like you could pull him to the side and set him straight."

"Shit. I'd certainly try."

I laugh. "Right. Good idea." He takes a puff from the cigarette and coughs. "So tell me, why is it that the ones you want you can't get and the ones that are available never feel right?" I feel strangely sagely as I utter this nonsense.

"The grass is greener on the other side syndrome?"

"Do you think that's it? Just because we can't have it, we want it? Seriously? Is that why you're always running after Rose?"

"No, I run after her because I love her. And if I keep on running after her, maybe she'll love me too."

"Oh, don't go all mushy on me." I shove my elbow in his ribs and he rubs his side as if he's hurt.

"It's not my fault you can't handle the truth." He shrugs and takes a sip from my beer. "So what happened with the guy?"

"He's mad at me because I told him his roommate's a pot dealer."

"Is he?"

"Yeah." I lean back further, survey the scene. More people enter. The place looks crowded, but somehow it doesn't feel that way.

"So what, I guess." Emmett shrugs and hands me the cigarette I rolled for him.

"Exactly, my point." I feel relieved that it's not me who's being insensitive, but rather Edward acting irrational.

"Well, I guess, it's easy for you to say, too. I mean, you don't live with him. The pot dealer, that is. What happens when the cops raid the place? They'll take along his roommate for a ride to the precinct."

"Do cops really raid apartments in brownstones?" I haven't really thought about that at all.

"I don't know."

"Anyway. It's not my fault. And I think he accused me of making it up."

"Now that's just rude."

"I know." Rose is still talking to the guy in the pink shirt. "I'm sorry about Rose."

"Not your fault."

"What was in that pill?" I ask.

"Special K."

"The cereal?"

Emmett laughs.

"No, the horse tranquilizer."

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><p><strong>Let's see how B feels the next day … <strong>

**Many thanks to ****cejsmom for rec'ing this story. **


	24. Chapter 24

**iambeagle searched for typos. I totally owe her. **

**I don't own twilight.**

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><p><strong>24. Monday, January 23, 2012 at 4:00 AM<strong>

_At Home._

"So what did you and Emmett get all chummy about?" Rose demands, standing with her arms crossed over her chest next to me while I brush my teeth.

"Nothing really." I spit. "Jealous?" I grin at her.

"You're drunk and high."

"Yes, to both." The drugs must be wearing off though. I'm feeling way less mellow already with Rose invading my space, grabbing her toothbrush from the sink.

"Great. _That _I'm jealous of," she mumbles squeezing toothpaste on her brush.

"Was pink shirt a good connection?" I ask before I wash my face with vigor.

She pauses, toothbrush in hand, while I rinse. "I wish. He's only the unpaid bitch on the floor for some minor designer at Hilfiger. He might as well be working at the GAP selling jeans. At least he'd get paid. Whatever."

"Sorry," I say and stumble to bed.

~o0o~

The next morning, I wake up nicely hung over. After a quick glance through the window of the coffee shop, confirming Edward isn't around, I get a double shot of espresso hoping it will ease my headache. Unfortunately, the caffeine fix doesn't work its usual magic. The headache from hell persists, while the coffee starts wreaking havoc on my empty stomach. In other words: I feel like shit.

When Charlotte sees me in the restroom, she confirms it. "You don't look so hot," she tells me.

That might be an understatement considering how pale and sallow my reflection in the mirror appears. "Yeah, I don't feel so hot either."

I return to my cubicle where I try to make sense of a spreadsheet I'm supposed to work on.

"Are you sleeping?" Heidi's shrill voice rouses me out of my meditative state of staring at the screen with my head supported in an upright position only by my hand it feels. Most muscles seem to have relinquished control of my body, leaving me feeling like an overcooked noodle.

"No," I mumble, though a nap sounds increasingly tempting as the day drags along.

Heidi proceeds to hover around my cubicle space, sorting papers she usually never touches and then starts reading a magazine, leaning against the ugly grey wall next to my desk.

"Do I smell booze on you?" she hisses at some point with her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"I ...uh... I don't think so."

She takes on big inhale, shakes her head and walks into her office, leaving the door wide open. Minutes later, I get a barrage of e-mails with documents attached to be proof-read and printed out on letterhead and a note that informs me that "this really needs to be completed by tonight–the latest."

When Heidi finally skedaddles for lunch, allowing for a brief reprieve from her scrutiny, I try to take a nap. Resting my cheek on the table next to the keyboard, I close my eyes and my cell phone starts ringing. I flip the silent switch on the side of the phone and ignore whoever is calling. Five minutes later, the office phone rings.

"Volturi Literary Agency," I answer.

"Honey, it's your mom." Renee sounds way too chirpy—as she always does.

"Mom, I can't talk right now. I'll call you back. I have another call coming in," I lie. Telling her I'm suffering from a massive hangover is not a good option.

"Don't you dare hang up on me!" she screeches. "You promised to go visit your dad. Remember? He stopped answering the phone." A splitting pain hits my left temple.

"Renee, can you please calm down?" With her, complete lunacy—if not kept carefully in check—always wins over rational thought. "Geez. I forgot. I'll give him a call."

"I can't believe you forgot. You know it's not like him to not pick up the phone. Something happened to him. At work maybe? Who knows! You know how dangerous his line of work is."

"Right." She's really going off the deep end now. Charlie, my dad, used to be cop way back when. He started a private security firm about ten years ago. These days he sits in an office downtown, sipping coffee and gobbling down takeout Chinese. The only danger to his health is clogged arteries caused by high cholesterol. "He's probably just working."

The man does work like a horse all the time, no thanks to her. Technically, I'm sure he has no longer any obligation to support her, but yet he still sends her monthly checks.

"I tried his cell phone and his office. Shelly promised me he'd call me back. I swear, I can feel it, something has happened to him."

"Feel it, huh?" More like Shelly, his secretary, felt bad for my dad and proceeded not to give him the message from my pesky mother.

"You know what I mean," says my mother and I can tell she's offended. "When your grandma died I felt it too." There's no point arguing with her on this.

"I'm calling him right now. I'll call you back." I hang up and dial his number.

"Hey, Bells. How are you?" he answers, not surprisingly, after the first ring.

"I'm okay, Dad," I tell him, feeling guilty I'm only calling him to calm Renee down.

"Are you running low this month? Do you need help with some bills? You know you can just tell me." He chuckles good-humoredly and I feel worse; headache, upset stomach and guilt all weighing on me. He clearly thinks the only reason I call him is to ask for money.

"No, I'm okay," I tell him.

"Why don't you quit your job and come working for me? I'd pay you better. "

"Don't be mad at me, but I don't think that's a good idea." Working at his company would be like admitting defeat. Never mind that private security sounds dreadfully boring. "Listen Dad, Renee has been bugging me, whining that you're not calling her back—and trust me, I totally understand why you wouldn't want to—so I told her I'd call to make sure you're all right. She thinks you've been kidnapped or shot and left for dead in some alley."

"Yes. Well." He hesitates. Then sighs. "I'm … there's," he coughs, "I've met someone," he finally spits out.

I don't understand what one has to do with the other or why he's spluttering. "That's great. Really. And I can't wait to meet her."

"Sue."

"What?"

"Her name is Sue."

"Yes. Great."

"How about you come over for dinner next Friday?"

"Sure. Next Friday it is. You got it. But Dad, can you please give Renee a call and tell her to take a chill pill?"

"For you? Sure, I do it."

"Thanks. I'll see you on Friday." I hang up with the strange feeling that I'm missing something, that there's something he isn't telling me, but my headache is preventing me from giving it any serious thought.

Resting my head back on the desk, I close my eyes.

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><p><strong>Hangovers are a bitch, right? I think I once took a nap under my desk. :)<strong>

**Thank you for reading. Reviews would be lovely. Many thanks to cejsmom for pimping this. **


	25. Chapter 25

**Iambeagle searched for typos etc. **

**Not mine.**

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><p><strong>25. Monday, January 23, 2012 - sometime around noon.<strong>

_At work._

"Bella?" A voice from a land far far away is calling me.

"Bella!" I hear it again. This time it's louder and with more urgency.

Rising to semi-consciousness, I feel my arm prickling and numb and my cheek glued to something hard and sticky. I've fallen asleep—at work, judging by the keyboard right next to my nose.

My reoccurring nightmare reel quickly spins and comes into focus before my eyes. It runs like this: Heidi will have no qualms about firing me. She will fire me. In a heartbeat. I'll be broke. Like, really broke. Unable-to-pay-my-share-of-the-eclectic-bill-broke. And fast. I won't be able to find another job, except for baby-sitting and waitressing. I won't be able to pay my share of the rent. Another month and I'll have to move back in with Charlie who lives in the ass-end of Queens. Or worse—with Renee where I'll share the sofa with her pooch.

Quickly and in panic, I lift my head off the desk. The room starts spinning. I squint and make out Charlotte standing next to me.

"Are you okay? I brought you some stuff." She dangles a bag from Taco Bell, a bottle of Ginger Ale and a packet of Aspirin in front of me before depositing them on my desk. "This usually helps me with hangovers," she explains.

"Ahh," is all I bring out as I sink back into my chair in relief.

"Took a brief nap, huh?" She looks down at me with a caring, motherly smile that Renee never perfected.

"Yeah." I glance at the monitor and see it's nearly one o'clock. "Thank you for this and for waking me up. I think I would have slept until Heidi returned if you didn't wake me. And you know I'd be in trouble then."

She chuckles. "Well, that's _if _she returns. Feel better," she says and walks out of the office.

Famished, I scarf down the food fast and then start working in earnest. By five o'clock, my hangover's still with me. The headache's pulsing between my brows and nothing's in order in my stomach region. True to Charlotte's prediction, Heidi has not returned to the office, so I leave all the work she piled on me—proofread and printed—on her desk and head out.

When I reach the subway steps, I notice that the sense of nausea I felt this morning hasn't gone away. In fact, by the time I've squeezed myself into the crowded train and it snaps into motion, it's actually getting worse. And as I'm running up the stairs of my station, I feel like I might hurl into the next garbage bin.

With my chin tucked in, I swallow and pray that I make it to a toilet in time, striding down the street toward home.

"Wait!" I hear Edward bellow as I pass the coffee shop. Just my luck. When I really don't wanna see him, he magically appears. Okay, maybe there's no magic involved. He's probably worked the afternoon shift at the coffee shop.

I'm afraid that if I look up, I'll hurl. Ignoring him doesn't feel right either, though.

"I can't. I call you!" I yell and continue walking, hoping he'll get the message. I try to run to escape, but the pouncing doesn't do my stomach any favors.

I'm so focused on keeping the two tacos and nachos with cheese down, I don't notice right away that he has decided to follow me. Of course, now Edward has decided it's time to be persistent.

"Hey. Wait. I only need a minute," he says, walking in easy strides next to me. I can't even look at his face, because that would require a movement of my head which may lead to an embarrassing accident.

"Not now. Really," I tell him, staring at the grey asphalt, feeling the contents of my stomach slowly but surely rising.

"Listen, I'm sorry …" he starts and it's the last I hear. Checking briefly that there are no cars immediately in sight, I dart across the street and then start hauling ass. Throwing up in front of him is not an option. Thankfully, this time he doesn't follow me.

~o0o~

"You look like shit. Did you catch Rose's bug?" Alice asks with her lips pressed in a tight line when I emerge from the bathroom.

"I doubt it. Just the hangover from hell," I tell her, sliding down into a chair. She nods and tries to smile. Judging by the pallor of her face and the oddly mismatched brown pants and purple sweater, this isn't her best day either.

"Yeah, I haven't been feeling all that hot either. But it's slowly starting to get better. Wanna order food?" At the mention of food, I start feeling dizzy.

Before I can tell her _no way, no how _am I eating anything more for today, Rose bursts into the apartment yelling, "Fucking Jane! I hate that fucking girl!" Her face is almost as red as her hair as she drops her bag on the floor with a thud.

"What happened?" Alice asks, slouching down next to me.

"I called the studio on Friday morning to let them know that I was sick and not coming in. Jane picked up the phone, so I told her." Rose kicks off her boots and tosses them in the corner with force, as if they were somehow to blame for her shitty day. She then proceeds to walk into the kitchen and grab a bottle of beer out of the fridge. "That stupid, stupid cow claimed she never got my call. Riley was furious. I almost got fired over this."

"That little bitch. I can't believe she'd do something like that," agrees Alice while I gulp down some bile that rises the minute I smell the beer.

"You don't look so good, B," Rose observes, taking a swig.

"Shut up."

Rose is laughing obnoxiously loud as I sprint back to the bathroom.

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><p><strong>Let's hope it will get better. :) thank you for reading. <strong>


	26. Chapter 26

**iambeagle searches for typos. I totally owe her. :)**

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><p><strong>26. Tuesday, January 31, 2012 around 10:00PM<strong>**  
><strong>  
><em>At Home.<em>_  
><em>  
>"Alice?" Rose yells when we hear the front door open from our perch in the kitchen where we've been smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap wine.<p>

"What's up?" Alice answers a minute later.

"Rent's due. I haven't gotten your share yet. Can you write me a check now?" Rose demands.

"Sorry. Um … yeah, about that … I called my mom today. It will take at least a day until the money's in my account. I'll give you the check tomorrow," Alice rambles with a sheepish smile on her face that only makes Rose see red.

"Alice!" She huffs and shoots her an exasperated look.

"I know … I know. If we don't pay before the fifth, we get charged a late fee. Tomorrow. I promise, okay?" Alice defends herself.

I get why Alice hasn't called her mom earlier. It's the classical head-in-the-sand-let's-just-pretend-everything-is-fine strategy. Only it isn't. When you can't avoid it any longer, you make a last minute call, promising that this won't happen again. I've done it myself and I'm sure I'll have to do it again. This month was just another fortunate exception.

"You really could have called your mom earlier," Rose informs her of the obvious truth.

"Fine, Rose," Alice snaps, runs out of the kitchen abruptly and returns two minutes later with her checkbook in hand. "Since you have to be such a fucking stickler about it." She scribbles Rose's name on the check and leaves it lying on the kitchen table. "Here. Just don't cash it before tomorrow night."

Never one to take Alice's antics in stride, Rose promptly rolls her eyes. "Alice, you're not fifteen anymore, so stop acting as if you are. I'm not your mother and I hate running after this shit," she scolds her. "If you could just do your part without me nagging you about it, this would all be so much easier."

"OH MY GOD, Rose. You always pretend like you have it so together. I told you, I'd give you the check tomorrow. I'm not sure why we're having a discussion about it."

"Relax, Alice," I interfere haphazardly before the argument escalates into a full-blown fight. "Rose's just trying to make sure this gets paid on time."

"It's fine," she says through clenched teeth even though that's now how she's feeling about it. "And by the way, when I moved in with you guys I didn't sign up for all this smoke." She waves her hand back and forth in front of her face as if it would make a difference in our tiny kitchen and leaves, never mind that on occasion she's definitely contributed her share to the smoke-situation.

"She's p-i-s-s-e-d," I mouth when we hear the bedroom door close.

"I don't care." Rose shrugs her shoulders and lights another cigarette. "She's getting on my nerves. I bet you ten bucks she only stayed out until now to avoid this discussion."

"Maybe." Leaning back in the chair, my eyes land on the fridge and our idiotic rules. "Hey, have you applied to any jobs?" I ask, laughing.

Rose looks up, her eyes flicking to what I'm staring at. "Yeah. I did. Stuff that I knew Riley wouldn't hear about. No call though. I think we should scrap that stuff. It's not like any of us would have any money to pay up the fines. We'd only end up with less in the end. And for what?"

"I disagree." Alice has decided to add her five cents, which means she's probably been listening to us. "I totally disagree," she repeats, moving to sit on the counter. "I have an interview next week."

"Great. Congratulations," I tell her and I mean it.

"So what job are you interviewing for?" Rose asks.

"I'd be working on exhibits at the design museum uptown. Tyler's mom got me the interview."

"Brilliant. I guess that balances it out. Her son gave you crabs. His mom gets you an interview," Rose mumbles and laughs.

"Yeah, right?" Alice says with a grin; one good thing about Alice: she might get mad easily, but she doesn't hold grudges.

"That actually sounds really cool, Alice," I say with no small amount of envy. Not that I want to work at a design museum or anything. I just don't want to work for Heidi anymore. Not that I ever liked it, but during the last month Heidi's bitchiness has reached an all time high, upping the ante to get hell out of there before she fires me.

"Yeah. It does. Congrats. But seriously? Can we cut the crap and agree not to pay fines? There's not even twenty jobs out there for me to apply to unless I wanna start taking shifts at the diner or work as a barback at night," Rose comments. "And the 'dating guys who are gainfully employed' thing hasn't really worked out that well, has it?"

"Complete and utter failure in that department," Alice admits. "Let's scrap the stuff with the fines. It's silly."

"Agreed," I say quickly, which apparently makes Rose laugh. "What?"

"Now you can hook up with your underemployed barista," she answers.

"Yeah, I don't think that's happening. I haven't seen him in over a week. I think he doesn't work there anymore." After narrowly escaping tossing my cookies on his shoes, he seems to have vanished. I thought about texting him, but then I figured that would just make me seem super needy and pathetic, so I didn't.

"Boo," Rose says. "I'm sorry, Bells."

"I think we should celebrate," Alice says, now fully back in perky mode. "Wanna call your dealer, Rose?"

"And what exactly would we be celebrating?"

"My interview."

"Dude, how about I give you his number and you just call him yourself?" Rose kills her cigarette and tosses the can we've used has an ashtray into the garbage. "I'm going to bed."

"You think?" Alice asks with an eager smile on her lips.

"Don't you ever have enough, Alice?" Rose looks at Alice with an incredulous expression on her face. "You're only just recovering from and STD."

"Nope. Can I have his number?" Alice asks, choosing to ignore Rose's comment.

"Fine. I'll send it to you," Rose says with a huff and disappears.

"Why's she such a sour puss?" Alice asks.

"Jane," is all I say and Alice nods in understanding.

"So … tell me about the barista," Alice instructs.

* * *

><p><strong>Update will follow soon :) I promise. Thank you for reading this tale of silly girls.<br>**


	27. Chapter 27

**iambeagle searches for typos. I totally owe her. :)**

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><p><strong>27. Tuesday, January 31, 2012, 11-ish at night.<strong>

_At Home._

"Nothing to tell." I chuck back the wine. "He actually lives with Jasper. They grew up together or something."

"What?" Suddenly, Alice's so excited she almost falls off the kitchen counter as she scampers to the table to sit across from me. "You've been to his place!"

I nod.

"Why haven't you told me?"

She actually looks mildly offended for a second until I point to the rules on the fridge. Realization dawns on her face.

"Oh My God. Tell me. Where does he live? What does the place look like? Did you talk to him? Any signs of a girlfriend?" she rattles on like starry-eyed teenager swooning about some high school crush.

"The apartment's nice. Like _really_nice. Two bedrooms," I tell her. "He's working on his MBA during the day. I guess the weed dealing is his side gig. No sign of a girlfriend."

As long as I've known Alice, she has approached all relationships like her interior design projects. Once she's picked the perfect piece she wants to incorporate, she assembles everything else around it until the room is in perfect harmony. Similarly, once she's picked a guy she thinks is perfect, she conform her life with singular devotion around him—his likes, his personality, his interest. In the past, this has led to a brief fad with organic food, including a compost bin in our kitchen (she was dating a farmer from Upstate); a rudimentary knowledge of Japanese and a collection of Anime amassed during the Joshi-period; and a set of Birkenstocks plus a subscription to _Mother Earth _acquired while dating James. Aside from crabs, Tyler may have been a perfect match; so far he's been the only one for whom she hasn't changed a bit. I'm not sure what this latest infatuation will entail, though I do hope she doesn't become his mule.

"Mmm." Resting her chin on her hand, she stares off dreamily into the distance for a second. "Do you think I should just call him and pretend that I wanna place an order?"

"Why not just order?" I'm not even sure how one pretends to order anything. "You can chat him up when he gets here."

"Right. Right," she mumbles. "Okay. So what happened with your guy?"

If I'm honest—and I know it sounds silly—I missed hashing and rehashing everything about a guy I like with a girl. Sharing a shitty date with Emmett just wasn't the same. So I tell her about Edward. New Year's Eve, the coffee spill incident, the subway, the concert, the screwed up dinner and the part where I'm fleeing from him because I'm about to throw up. I'm none the wiser how I feel about him after, but one thing's for sure: I do sort-of-kind-of still want to see him again.

"I see why you wouldn't want to call him," Alice confirms with her forehead wrinkled. "But maybe send him a text—just apologizing for kind of ditching him when you last saw him?"

"I don't know … don't you think that makes me look kind of desperate?"

"Oh, God. Who cares?"

"You want me to call a guy who basically dissed me?" I remind her.

"You're right." She shrugs. "Wait and see?"

"Yeah. I think I'm gonna go with that."

"But what if you're never ever going to run into him?" she points out, forcing me to admit that the thought is unsettling.

"If I haven't run into him at the coffee shop by next week, I'll send him a text."

~o0o~

_**Wednesday, February 1, 2012, around 8:00 AM**_

_At home._

With new resolve, I don't fill up my traveling cup at home and instead drag it straight to the coffee shop only to be sorely disappointed when a blonde in a striped sweater fills up my cup.

"Hey, do you know by any chance when Edward's scheduled to work?" I ask, trying hard to sound casual, when she hands me back my change. She shoots me an odd glance and then smiles, making me think it might have been a better idea to just text him.

"Hey, Felix?" she shouts to someone in the back. "There's a girl here asking when Edward's scheduled to work. Can you check while you're back there?"

A minute later, a guy with full sleeve tattoos steps out and the blonde nods in my direction.

"Edward's moved. It takes him longer to get here now, so he doesn't start until nine and leaves around four for his other gig in the city," he says, looking me up and down.

I shift uncomfortably. "Thanks," I mumble, contemplating when exactly I'd run into him with that schedule. "Does he still work Saturdays?"

"Yeah. I think so," he says, chuckling.

"Okay. Great. Thanks," I tell him.

I'm about to turn and run when I hear him. "Listen, do you want me to just give him a message?"

"No, that's okay. I'll just call him." I practically feel my cheeks heat up as I stumble into the cool air. Texting him would've been definitely been the smarter move.

~o0o~

When I get home and find the whole house smelling of weed, I know Alice has completed her transaction with Jasper.

"Bella. I got news for you," she greets me as I sink down onto the bed next to her and Rose with a joint in her hand. "Your barista moved out after you enlightened him on Jasper's line of business. He's slumming it. Moved into some dump in Bed Stuy. Jasper says it's more like East New York."

"He did what?" Rose interrupts.

"Edward lived with him until Bella told him about Jasper's line of business."

Rose burst out laughing. "What a tool! He moved to the hood. He knows that, right?"

I can't help but agree with her, "Yeah, that does sound pretty idiotic."

"Well, apparently there's more to the story. Their roommate in college used to deal. When he got arrested, they took Jasper and Edward in too. Long story short, they weren't charged with anything, but only because their parents hired a lawyer whom they had to pay a hefty legal fee. So I guess, that's where it's coming from."

"And you found all of this out during one measly conversation with him while he dropped off this?" I point to the joint, staring at her with what I'm sure is a pretty incredulous expression on my face.

"Nah," she mumbles, inhaling, then handing me the joint, "I texted him last night and he suggested lunch." She grins and I cough. "Oh! Before I forget. No need to text him. We're invited to some party this Saturday. Pretty sure your boy will be there. His band's playing."

* * *

><p><strong>Okay. E will be in the next one, I swear. :)<strong>


	28. Chapter 28

**iambeagle searches for typos. :)**

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><p><strong>28. Saturday, February 4, 2012 around 10:00 PM<strong>

_Somewhere in Bushwick …_

"Make a left here," yells Rose from her spot in the front seat next to Emmett, who's been driving around the same five city blocks for what feels like hours.

"Woman, you can't just yell turn when we're right _at _the corner. I really can't afford to have an accident right now." Emmett sensibly keeps on driving straight ahead until he finds a spot to make a very legal u-turn.

"There's nobody out here. How the fuck do you have an accident if you're the only car on the road?" Rose mocks him.

"I'm getting sick in here," Alice, squeezed in between two of Emmett's roommates, whines.

"See." Emmett shoots Rose a pointed look, before turning his head to the passengers in the backseat. "I'm sorry, Alice."

"It's not your driving, actually. It's the smell in here."

Alice's right. The combination of wet dog smell mixed with Febreze and piss in this Volvo station wagon, ca. 1989, is nausea inducing, which is why I've been trying to breath through my mouth for the last hour or so.

"Oh, suck it up, Alice," Rose mutters, returning her attention to her phone. "It says 348. This is 370. It must be somewhere around here. But I swear we've been here before."

I can't tell whether we've been here before or not. It's pitch dark and it all looks the same. Some industrial looking buildings interrupted intermittently by a lonely tenement.

"Let's just park the car and walk," Emmett suggests, as he's done at least three times before.

"Let's not," Rose asserts again. "Remember? Four inch heels."

"Woman-" He's clearly aggravated at this point. I'd be too, if I had to drive. Getting out of the car and walking seems like a sensible option to me.

"Stop calling me that!" she interrupts him before he can voice his anger.

"Can you two lovebirds wrap it up?" says the bulky guy whose thigh is pushing me into the door, which shuts both of them up promptly. "Let's park the car," he orders swiftly.

Two minutes later, we walk down the block in search for what's supposed to be the biggest party in Brooklyn, if not all of New York City, with three bands playing and four DJ's spinning. It sounds too lame to bother leaving the apartment. Yet, here I am. My motivation for going is mainly that Edward will be there.

"Shouldn't we hear something? I mean music … people?" I ask, but nobody responds. The only sound I hear is that of Rose's heels as she hobbles along behind me.

"I think I found it," Emmett finally shouts from somewhere off in the distance and we all start moving faster, except for Rose, who just can't.

After shuffling through a throng of people to get in, I wonder how exactly we almost missed this place.

I spot Jasper easily standing near the bar. He's sticking to his suit routine despite the fact that we're hanging out in an establishment with raw concrete floors that sells booze in plastic cups. Strangely enough, he doesn't really look out of place.

"Hey," I greet him.

I kind of expect him to be mad at me, at least a little bit. Instead he smiles when he sees me and kisses me on the cheek. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I'm okay. Listen, I'm sorry about letting you-know-what slip in front of Edward-"

"Don't be. I'm not. Well, I'm sorry he saw the need to move out. I venture it's safer at my place than where he's currently living." He stops and gives me a wry smile. "With three roommates he found on craigslist. They might as well be crack dealers for all he knows. Maybe you wanna impress that on him when you see him?"

I don't know what to say to that.

Coughing once, he continues, "Ahem, we're not exactly on speaking terms currently."

I nod, though I think it's best not to get involved. "Where is he?"

Jasper points me into the direction of a long hallway and I scurry. When I find the room Edward's band's supposed play in, they're already packing up and part of me is glad about it. As much as I've enjoyed hearing him play, seeing him with that blonde on stage will crush my confidence.

Some other girl is standing off to the side, clearly waiting for someone. His band mate Eli looks like real slime today—he's outdone himself: his hair's slicked back with at least two handful of grease and his hefty upper arms are bulging out of his retro t-shirt—so I doubt she's waiting for him. Edward's standing at the other of the stage unplugging some cables with his back to me. I'm still contemplating how exactly to approach him when he turns, his eyes landing squarely on me. I wave lamely, try to smile and then walk over.

"Hey," I say, feeling tongue-tied as I look at him.

"Hey," he replies in a low, hoarse voice.

"Listen-" I start.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. But-"

"I didn't mean to … sorry about acting like a dick. " He shakes his head and I start laughing.

"Yeah, you did." I can't resist saying it. "Anyway. I didn't mean to run when I saw you afterwards … well, I sort of did. Never mind. I went out when I got back home that night and … yeah, I got pretty drunk," I ramble, staring at a spot off in the distance. "So … yeah … hangover from hell." He's laughing but covers his mouth politely when I look at him.

"Go on." He motions for me to continue, still trying to suppress laughing out loud. "This is good. I can tell."

"Fuck you," I say with a smile. "I should've let you give me your lame explanation why you acted like such a dick, then barfed on your shoes."

"That would have been okay. Payback, I guess," he says and then we both fall silent. My eyes latch onto his mouth and I watch him swallow. The air feels abuzz with electricity. Sparks are practically flying. Or maybe I imagine it cause I want him to kiss me too badly. I lean forward, closing my eyes.

"Edward," his pudgy band mate calls, "I could really use your help with this."

I open my eyes in a snap. It's gone. The bubble's been deflated, if it ever existed. Edward's inhaling and exhaling slowly, still standing close.

"Don't go anywhere," he tells me, touching my arm. "I'll be right back, okay."

"Okay."

I lean back against a speaker and watch him pack up his guitar, roll up some cables and move the equipment out of the room.

"Where were we?" he asks out of breath after running back into the room ten minutes later.

"I don't know." I grin at him, raising one eyebrow. "You tell me."

And then, before I've time to prepare for what comes next, what should've happened a while ago, his lips come crashing down on mine. I reach with my hands for his shoulders to avoid losing balance. It's not a tender sweet kiss. It's wanton and wild and needy and yeah, long overdue.

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><p><strong>Credit definitely is due to Ms. Dionne. :) Yeah, I watched Clueless one too many times.<br>**

**Many many thanks to the people who review this tale. I really appreciate it.  
><strong>


	29. Chapter 29

**iambeagle searched for typos. Many thanks to her. She's cool.**

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><p><strong>29. Sunday February 5, 2012 around 2:00AM<strong>

_Somewhere on the border of Bed Stuy & East New York._

"Why did you lock the door to your room? Isn't the front door enough?" I ask. Edward is fumbling with the key with one hand, while refusing to let go of mine with his other. If he'd just let go, the door would already be open.

The place looks okay so far—not what I'd imagined after talking to Jasper—though I can't see much. The light's too dim. All the walls are bare and there're no shoes or clothes or bags lying around the hallway.

"I don't know." He shrugs. "Shit," he mumbles, dropping the keys to the floor, then bending down to grab them quickly, still not letting go of my hand. "They gave me the key … everybody else seems to be locking their door."

The door springs open and his hands are on me—like they've been since that first kiss—as he maneuvers us through the door. I've never met a guy who's so touchy-feely, who can't keep his hands off of you, needs to somehow be attached to you at all times, even if he's just holding onto your hand. I'm still on the fence whether I like it or not.

He's pinning me against the closed door the minute we're in, our bodies pressed together until there's no space left. _This better be as good as the kiss_, is all I can think, reaching for his shoulders as his fingers find the bare patch of skin between my shirt and jeans, and start moving up fast.

I feel his lips on my neck, then on my collarbone. I tug on his jacket, which is discarded quickly on the floor, to distract me from this mouth. My shirt, then his, follow suit fast.

"Where …" he mumbles, his hand gliding over my back along the bra strap, searching for the clasp.

"In front." With my hands on his chest, I push him back to open it.

"No. I want do," he whines, pulling my hands away.

"Fine." I giggle, feeling his hands on my boobs, his fingers unhinging the clasp fast. I try to step back, but he won't let me, his mouth latching on to my chest too quickly. "You're like old chewing gum, I swear."

"I'm sorry. What did you just call me?" He stops his attack on my chest abruptly, straightens up and looks down at me with a slightly offended scowl on his face.

"You know," I roll my eyes and laugh, "when you step into it and you can't get it off your shoe anymore?" He furrows his brows, shooting me a skeptical look. "Well, yeah, your hands … I don't know how to describe it. It feels like you're an octopus. They're all over the place … and almost glued to my skin."

"I think I'm offended." He chuckles and pushes me until I land on his twin mattress with a thud. "Old chewing gum … and now a mollusk that dies shortly after mating?" he asks, lying down next to me, his hands behind his head.

"A what?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes. "An octopus."

"Oh. It dies after sex?"

He nods, a smile playing on his lips, like he's amused by my ignorance.

"Well, I didn't know that," I admit (who the hell would anyway?) and turn on my side to face him and place a kiss on his very kissable jaw. He makes no move to return his hands on me, just stares at the ceiling with this barely-there grin on his face. "Okay, maybe chewing gum and octopus are the wrong comparisons." I roll on top of him and start splattering him with more kisses. "Come on."

He corks one eyebrow at me and shakes his head. I kiss him smack on the mouth, but he doesn't respond. I sit up, straddling him.

"This is it?" I press down on where I can still feel him hard. "You want me to leave?"

"Hell no." His sits up quickly and bites my earlobe lightly. "I wanted this for some time now . . . so no, you calling me old chewing gum might not be enough to deter me. But please, feel free to tell me if it's all too much." He brings his hands to rest on my hip and doesn't move them.

"It's fine." Regretting my comments, I sigh and bite my lip. He kisses and licks me, until squirm, but doesn't touch me anymore. "Touch me," I beg, relenting.

"Where?" he whispers near my neck, and I feel his mouth spread into a grin.

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm not." His hands squeeze my hipbones and then dip lower. "Here?"

"Yes … good." Unbuttoning my jeans with his suddenly nimble fingers, his hand slips between my legs. "Better."

The more I feel his fingers graze over my skin, the more I'm thinking I don't mind them at all.

When I shift against his hips again, he moans against my chest where his lips are busy with my breasts; it sounds kinds of hoarse, deep and sexy, making me want to hear it again. I press my hips down harder and get rewarded with the same sound.

"Fuck," he murmurs against my chest and flips us over, then pulls back far enough to pull down my jeans. Following his lead I slide my underwear quickly down my legs and toss them to the side. I stare at him for a second in the dim light of his room. He grimaces briefly as he unbuttons his jeans, then pulls them off quickly and lands between my thighs.

He's kissing me, touching me, his hips rocking against me and I feel him hard and hot, brushing against my thigh.

"Condoms?" I ask impatiently.

He pulls a box from under the bed swiftly, making me wonder whether he was expecting to seal the deal tonight with me or whether he's just generally well prepared for any occasion, i.e. any girl. Considering where we left things when I last saw him, I don't think he could've expected this—us rolling around on his bed. Maybe there's always some band bunny or whatever they call those girls hanging around, so getting laid is inevitable. That thought about other girls … well, usually it wouldn't bother me. I mean, you can't change the past, so why fret? I'd just be happy that we're on a roll. But for some reason, I can't stop thinking about it with him. It's like my mind has latched on to it and can't let go—not when he's rolling on the condom, not when he's pushing slowly inside of me, and not when his hips start moving.

We're doing it. Having sex and all I do is wonder whether he does this often and how many girls have been here before me, on this same mattress. His rhythm changes, his breath accelerates. There's nothing building up inside of me; all my excitement has quickly dissipated without ever reaching a peak, and I can tell by his movements that it's nearly over.

"Are you … ?" He pants and pushes himself up on his elbows to look at me. I bite my lip, thinking about whether to moan now and fake it or whether to just tell him the truth. I hesitate too long and he's on to me, snaking his hand between us to see whether he can help me along. It doesn't help, not even in the slightest. He squints his eyes closed, trying to concentrate. "Closer?"

This time I don't hesitate. I close my eyes and pretend that he's making me feel as good as feels while he's coming.

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><p><strong>Thank you for still reading this tale without any real peaks so far! :)<strong>


	30. Chapter 30

**iambeagle—who's not really a beagle at all—searched for typos. Many thanks to her.**

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><p><strong>30. Sunday, February 5, 2012 around 7:00AM<strong>

_In Edward's Bed._

When my eyes flutter open for the first time, the light outside is dim; the room's still dark under the grey light barely filtering in through the window shrouded by white plastic shades. My left foot is numb, and I feel sticky and hot.

Disorientated for a moment, I try to move my leg but soon notice that I can't. At least not easily. Edward is lying on top me. His arm is draped over my stomach securely, his head nuzzled in the crook of my neck and one of his legs is swung over both of mine holding me in a tight grip to his side.

For a second, it feels like I'm suffocating and, in panic, I very nearly shove my elbow in his ribs. But then I hear him mumble my name while his eyes remain shut tightly, and something about him there—his face relaxed, his fingers flexing on my skin—seems sort of sweet, so I ignore my discomfort and let him hold me as I drift back to sleep.

The second time around, the sun's shining brightly, exposing the cracks in the wall and the scratches in the wooden floor. Still wrapped in his arms too secure for comfort and with his lips near my neck, I swear my whole leg's now prickling and my back feels really stiff. I can't take it anymore and finally stir.

"Morning," he whispers.

"Morning." I wiggle some more, turn and roll to my side to face him. Our eyes meet and we don't talk. We kiss and touch and move. Without hesitation, his hands tease, stroke, almost do magic. I think I might be in love with them. But then he shifts, continues his mission with his tongue between my legs. He's good. Better than good. He's awesome. Fucking fantastic. And this time, it doesn't take long to reach the goal that seemed so elusive just a few short hours ago.

Looking up at me from his spot between my thighs a devious grin on his face, he says, "Good?"

"Fucking awesome," I reply with a chuckle.

"Sorry… about… last night," he mumbles with his lips latched onto my skin, so I can barely hear what he's saying.

"About what?"

He doesn't reply. Instead, he crawls back up with wet kisses.

"Seriously. About what?"

His tongue flicks over my nipple before his eyes flick back to me, his eyebrows raised in question.

"You know you're just making me more curious now," I bring out before he attacks my lips.

"Later," he says between kisses and I feel him sliding against me in the most distracting way.

Unable to respond without moaning out loud, I remain mum and let him have his way. It's slow and lusty and oh-so-much better than last night. First, with my legs over his shoulders and his hand between my thighs. Then, when I'm nearly done, he draws me with him until I sit on his lap rocking down and taking control. He's getting closer, I can tell. Beads of sweat start pearling on his face, but he's not quite finished. Crawling back on top of me, he pins my legs down with his hands, sliding against me before pushing in.

I don't care about other girls anymore because he's rocking my world… well, at least in bed.

A bit in awe and feeling blissfully satisfied, I curl into his side.

"So, what are your plans for the day?" he asks a little later, his foot tapping a beat against the sheets and his fingers tangled in my hair.

"Mhm." I'm still too dazed and incoherent. "Ahh... not much."

He winks at me and then sighs. "I wish I could stay in bed with you all day making all those odd noises. Unfortunately, I've to work."

"Odd noises?" I bite him lightly in the chest.

"Yeah, I should've taped you."

"Uh, no, thank you. I never understood the appeal of taping—possibly with video feed—one's personal escapades."

"You're right. Probably a bad idea," he admits.

"So, what were you so sorry about?" I move on my elbows to look at him.

"Not sure what you're talking about." He tries to evade answering me with a smile on his face.

"Dude, just before you… you know?" I pinch him and grin. "You said something about being sorry about last night. So?"

"I guess I should've kept my mouth shut." He closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip. "I know it wasn't my greatest performance. So ...um, yeah... sorry about that."

"I'm not sure …" I furrow my brows in confusion. He responds with a pointed look in my direction. "Oh … you mean?"

He nods.

I laugh. It wasn't really him that was the problem last night, though I don't tell him that. Instead, I watch him turn a deeper shade of pink.

"It had been a while, okay? And what's so funny about it?" he tells me when I don't stop giggling immediately.

I'm stunned into momentary silence by this admission. The opposite of what I feared.

"What do you mean by 'it's been a while'?" I ask, slightly skeptical.

"A year," he tells me with a shrug of his shoulders.

If he wouldn't have volunteered the 411 on his sex life, I would've been none the wiser. It didn't seem like a minuteman performance to me. And condoms—ready under the bed—still don't make sense to me.

"Believe it or not, some people actually like to know the person before they sleep with them," he says, sounding slightly condescending.

"Don't be an idiot. I'm laughing because well…" I motion with my hand in the empty space between us. "I kind of figured the opposite was the case. What, with the condoms right there conveniently under the bed and those fawning girls at your shows?"

"Silly girl." He shakes his head, but seems to have forgiven me when he pulls me in for a kiss.

"I found those when I unpacked and didn't want to leave them in the bathroom. Seemed too personal," he explains, tossing the box back under the bed as we get dressed and ready to leave.

"Plus someone else might use them."

At that comment, he bursts out laughing.

"What?"

"You haven't met my new roommates yet."

"I'm sure even ugly people have sex," I inform him.

"Yeah, for some reason I don't think that's the problem."

I see what he's talking about when we stumble into the kitchen ten minutes later in search for coffee, where I meet Randy, programmer by day, avid gamer by night, wearing old jogging pants and a t-shirt with a Ms. Pac-Man on it eating little hearts. I'm bad with guessing weight, but he has to weigh at least three hundred pounds, give or take. Combine that with the face of a twelve year old and yeah, I suddenly get why Edward's not worried about his condoms going missing.

Randy barely completes two sentences before he returns his attention to his eggo waffles. The coffee has finished brewing and we're almost ready to ditch the kitchen, when he loudly farts. I'm about to laugh, but then the smell is so putrid that I just flee. Edward, of course, has already escaped and laughs when he sees my face.

"I feel for whatever girl will eventually succumb to his charms," I tell Edward as we walk out of his building..

"Why? You don't find him charming?" Edward mocks me. "But no worries. He doesn't like girls."

"He's gay?"

"No. Real life girls are just too much work—his words, not mine. He prefers his Japanese pillow."

"What's a Japanese pillow?"

"Google it. I can't … " he tells me, shuddering with a look of distaste on his face.

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><p><strong><strong>Thank you for reading :)<strong>**


	31. Chapter 31

**iambeagle searched for typos. She's the best.**

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><p><strong>31. Sunday, February 5, 2012 around 12 o'clock<strong>

_At Home._

"I got coffee," I announce, carrying a cardboard box with the three cups of coffee—courtesy of Edward, who had to cover someone's shift today—into the kitchen.

"I guess I was wrong; he does come with some benefits," Rose informs me wryly from her spot on the windowsill with a matching sour expression on her face. Shivering in the open window dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, she exhales the smoke from her cigarette into the crisp air, kills it, gets up from her perch and slams the rickety window shut with force.

"You're welcome." I place the coffee on the kitchen table with an eye roll in her direction. "What happened?" I ask to be polite.

"Well, let me see … where do I start?" She straightens up, putting her hands on her hips, and fixes a contemptuous gaze on me that makes me wonder if the world is coming to an end, and if it's indeed all my fault. "When you ditched me at the party to go get busy with the barista? Or when I got stuck hiking by myself to the nearest subway station, which was a definitely not right around the corner, like some people would have you believe?"

I'm ill prepared to deal with a full-blown guilt trip in the morning. "I thought Emmett would give you a ride home?" I defend myself. She cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes before picking up one of the cups of coffee.

"He was completely wasted. I'm not suicidal. Thank you very much."

"Relax. I'm sorry, but honestly? How is this my fault?"

"You didn't even fucking pick up your phone anymore once you left with that guy."

"Wow. I was kind of busy you know..." I stammer, still in defensive mode, though I know she's right. I very well should have picked up the phone.

"I don't care. I called you five fucking times. You could have called back." She huffs, pacing back and forth in our narrow kitchen. "And don't mention Emmett again. I'm so pissed at him. I don't know why I believed him when he told me that the subway was just three blocks away. The idiot couldn't even find the place to begin with!"

"Well, you got home," I say calmly, before picking up my cup and attempting to make a beeline for the door, because nothing bursts a nice caffeine bubble like someone grumbling, complaining before the day has even really begun.

"Wait! You can't leave. I'm not nearly done."

"What?" I turn to look at her. Sighing once loudly, she shrugs and flings herself into a chair. When she rubs her eyes with her fingers, I notice that she looks really tired and well, yeah, like shit.

"Something really stupid happened to me on the cab ride over here—"

"I thought you were taking the train?" I'm legitimately confused at this point.

"Well, yeah, I was. Until some dude started jerking off across from me and I got off, okay!?" At this, I very nearly drop my coffee on the floor.

"Gross!"

"Yeah. Tell me about it." Rose looks like she's about to cry, and I start feeling bad for her in earnest.

I'm tempted to lighten the mood by asking a completely inappropriate follow up question about the guy with the busy hands on the train, but then I stop myself, feeling slightly disgusted with where my mind wandered.

"So you got out and took a cab."

"Yeah. This gets better," Rose continues, scratching her head. "I swear this total dick of a driver gets lost and drives around local streets without any sense of direction, all the while listening to some gospel station. Then, when we nearly reach our block, he stops the car and says his shift is ending now, and I have to walk the rest of the way. So I got into this argument with him. I basically told him I wasn't going to pay. Right about when he starts seriously screaming at me, and I'm about to just drop it and pay him, I notice some guy walking past us with his dog. I figured that was as good an opportunity as any, so I jumped out the car."

"Shit. Did he come running after you?" Imagining a wild chase down Seventh Avenue in the middle of the night with Rose wearing heels, as I clutch my cup nervously.

"Nope. He yelled something out of the window, but I just hauled ass and ignored him."

"Good for you." I relax back into the chair and drink my coffee.

"Not really. I think the reason why the guy didn't come running after me is because I left my wallet in his car, " Rose mumbles. I suppress a laugh, but I'm pretty certain my lips twitch up into a half smile for just second, earning me another admonishing stare from her big blue eyes.

"Shit. Do you remember his name?"

"Nope. I thought about calling the Taxi and Limousine commission, but I'm not even sure I want him to return the damn wallet. I already cancelled all the cards and only had fifteen bucks on me to which, I guess, he's more or less entitled."

"Why? I'd call them. Did you have your driver license in there? Because, ugh, I wouldn't wanna go line up at the DMV if I could avoid it. I mean, that alone would be a good reason to get it back."

Rose's pale skin turns pink. "Yeah, I might have something slightly incriminating in my wallet. And my license has my parents' address on it."

"Like what?"

"Alice gave me something to hold for her, and then she disappeared, too. It was coke," she tells me, staring intently at a nail polish stain on our kitchen table.

"Shit." Rose's hands are shaking as she bites her bottom lip nervously. "Well," I start, thinking I have to figure out a way to calm her down. Panicking is not going to help the situation. "Plausible deniability," I tell her with conviction. It's something I've heard Charlie utter before on occasion.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you lost custody of your wallet," I shrug my shoulders, "so someone could have taken it and stored his or her stash in it. Just claim ignorance if anyone calls or asks." I try my best to convey complete authority and competence by keeping a straight, blank face.

"Mmm," Rose looks at me with hopeful eyes, "do you think that will work?"

"I don't know. What else were you gonna do? Besides, I'm sure the dude will take the money and toss the rest in the trash."

The crease between her brows disappears, as she lifts one shoulder up. "Well. Sounds like as good a plan as any. Thanks. Leave it to cop's daughter to come up with a good excuse."

"Ex-cop," I murmur, slightly embarrassed, my mind shifting to Charlie, and how utterly shocked he'd be about my advice, when suddenly I remember our dinner date on Friday night. "Shit."

I grab my phone to check for messages. Of course, my voice mailbox is blinking. Three of seven messages are from Renee, which is probably why I ignored my voicemail for so long. But two are from Charlie. The rest are from Rose. In the first one he's just asking where I am, and in the second one he sounds really angry when he informs me to call him ASAP. "I was supposed to head over to my dad's house for dinner on Friday. He has a new girlfriend," I explain to Rose and call my father.

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><p><strong>Sorry for the long delay in updating. What can I say? RL has been kicking my ass.<strong>

**Toodles & Thanks for checkin' back in. **


	32. Chapter 32

**IAMBEAGLE is speedy and sweet and searches for typos in this sordid tale of mine.**

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><p><strong>32. Sunday, February 5, 2012 at 6:00PM<strong>

_At the coffee shop._

"Sorry," I kiss Edward on the corner of his mouth, "but I kind of have to ditch you tonight." The smile he had on his face when I walked up to him in the shop falters for a split second, but long enough for me to notice. We were supposed to go see a friend of his play tonight. "Don't be mad. I promise I'll make up for it somehow."

"Really?" He wiggles his eyebrows, like an idiot. "How?" he asks, grabbing his coat as we head for the exit.

"I'll think about something," I tell him, as we walk to the train.

"So who's the lucky guy tonight?"

"My dad. I was supposed to have dinner at his place last Friday, but forgot all about it."

"Forgot, huh?"

"Yes. I know it sounds lame, but I swear it's the truth and now he's really pissed. Of course, it doesn't help that his new girlfriend cooked dinner and apparently even baked a cake on account of me coming over." I shudder a little at the memory of my earlier conversation with Charlie. After a ten minute speech about personal responsibility and punctuality, I felt like a total failure all around, blaming my apparent inability to find a better job, a nicer apartment and everything else in my life that isn't perfect squarely on my newly highlighted personal shortcomings.

"I'm sure he'll get over it."

"It might take some serious groveling. I can't even remember him ever being his angry." In fact, Charlie's usually the calmest person I know, which is why his lecture irks me so much.

"Maybe the new girlfriend had something to do with it?" Edward suggests. I'd never thought about that, admittedly because this whole girlfriend routine with Charlie is a first. Over the years, I kind of assumed he had someone to scratch the occasional itch, though I'd rather not think about it. One thing's for certain, if he had any before, he did a good job of hiding them.

"I don't know. Do you think?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"It was just weird. I got this whole speech about what it means to be a 'grownup,'" Edward interrupts me with his chuckle, and I slap him on the arm, "and how I can't expect people to take me seriously if I can't even remember to call and cancel. He's right, of course, and I should have called. But I swear he's never been so angry. Usually it's not his style. And I swear, I'm usually not this unreliable. It's just Heidi was in a bitchy mood on Friday, and I ended up getting soaked running around downtown during that downpour on a mission to pick up a present for her niece at Little Marc Jacobs. By the time I got home, it was eight," I lament.

"Trust me, just tell the new girlfriend that you love her cooking, and how good your father looks since she's been around," he tells me with a wink.

"Mmm. I don't know. What if her food tastes like shit?"

Edward licks his lips and gives me a mildly condescending smile. "Seriously?"

"You want me to lie to flatter her?" I say in mock outrage.

"I'm just trying to be helpful here. Don't follow my advice, if you have such strong moral objections." He pulls my ponytail and frowns. "Or …"

"What?" I look up at him and watch him swallow.

"Or I could come along and charm her for you." Judging by the very seductive grin on his face, I have no doubt he could accomplish just that without even trying.

"I'd bet you be good at that." It almost sounds like a tempting offer. Almost. While I have no qualms about introducing Edward to my dad, I'm not sure I'm ready to unleash my family on him. Charlie can come across as weird. The only topics he feels at ease discussing are baiting and The Mets. Renee I never dare introduce until I've known people for some time. "But I think I'll have to decline. I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of embarrassment … and by that, I mean my embarrassment for my rather stranger parents."

He laughs. "Yep. Mine sometimes display some pretty mortifying behavior." The train comes to a stop, and he dips down to place a quick kiss on my lips. "Call me when you get home, okay?" Edwards says, jumping off the train already, leaving me annoyed with Charlie.

~o0o~

Nearly an hour later, I finally arrive in front of the yellow row house I used to call home. Ringing the doorbell reluctantly, unsure of what awaits me inside, I check out the front lawn. The house has never been anything to look at. It's small, attached at both sides, covered with ugly vinyl siding and in need of some updating, though it's obviously neatly maintained. And on first glance, the place still pretty much looks the same. That is, until my eyes land on the assortment of garden gnomes complete with red hats, green jackets and yellow pants littering the front yard. Rounding up the vision of kitsch is a plastic pond with fake grey rocks. I'm still wondering who picked up the atrocious decoration, when Charlie appears in the door.

"Looks nice, huh?" he says pointing awkwardly at the scene on the front lawn. Clearly, he's not sold on the decor either.

"Umm. Yeah. Sure." I nod. The gnomes are undoubtedly the work of the new woman in his life, and there's no need start the evening off on the wrong foot by commenting on her bad taste.

"I'm really sorry about Friday," I tell him when we hug.

"It's okay, Bells. Just make sure you call next time you need to cancel." He pats me on the back, and my temporary lapse of memory seems to be forgiven.

"Something looks different about you…" I can't put my finger on it immediately as I give him a cursory once over, which makes Charlie fumble and touch his mouth self-consciously. "You shaved off… " As long as I can remember, a brown mustache that looked like a caterpillar adorned his upper lip and now it's gone, making him look naked.

"Makes him look younger, don't you think?" a female voice chimes in.

When I glance over his shoulder I see a skinny, middle-aged blonde standing in the door to the kitchen. She looks oddly out of place in this house and yet somehow strangely at home, if that makes any sense. Like, the house with its worn out wooden floors, the old family pictures and the singing fish cluttering the wall is clashing with her bright blond hair, skin tight jeans that look like she liberated them from her teenage daughter, but she's wearing an apron, and the row of high heeled shoes near the door, the sweet smelling potpourri bowl on the side table, the Yorkshire Terrier under her arm pressed to her bosom, and the display outside are all solid proof that she clearly considers this her home, too.

"Bells, this is Sue," Charlie introduces me before I'm forced to respond.

"Hi. Nice to meet you." I extend my hand to hers, and she grabs it with so much force that I fear my fingers might bruise.

The dinner is long but entertaining. Sue likes to talk, among other things. She also likes Yorkshire Terriers, Barry Manilow, tanning, Gordon Ramsay and all things glittery and golden. Between salad and baked ziti, I find out that she doesn't have kids, which means she actually bought those jeans, giving her an unsightly case of cameltoe herself, and works in HR for a law firm. For most of the dinner, Charlie and I sip our beers and nod.

Sue's tales about her life are only briefly interrupted when she admonishes Charlie with "you know too much salt is bad for your blood pressures" as he reaches for the salt shaker, or "two beers's enough, honey," when he gets up to get more beer.

I'm still contemplating on whether to be offended on his behalf or whether to just let it go and be happy that he has someone to look after him now, when the table goes silent for the first time. The only the noise remaining is that of panting dog near my leg, and I notice that Charlie and Sue seem to be involved in some sort of staring match.

"Honey, didn't you have something that you wanted to discuss with Bella?

"That can wait," Charlie grumbles and gets up to take his plate to the sink.

"I think now would be the perfect moment," Sue continues undeterred, though her smile start looking slightly forced.

"I said not now," Charlie responds with more force, which shuts Sue up for good.

After some apple pie a la mode and a cup of tea, Charlie offers me a ride home, which I gladly take. We drive home listening to the news, and I get the unsettling feeling in the pit of my gut that whatever discussion Sue wanted us to have is about to follow. I also have the ominous feeling that it's nothing good.

"So, Sue and I... we were thinking it's time for some change," he starts when we've arrived in front of my place.

"What kind of change are we talking about?"

"Well, I'm not sure you were aware of it, but currently I still make monthly payments to your mother." He stares straight out the window into the dark.

"Huh… and?" I had a vague idea that Charlie's still looking after Renee, though I've been blissfully unaware just how much.

"Sue wants me to stop supporting her. She says I have no legal obligation—she's right about that—and if I put the money into my 401K, I could possibly retire earlier." My heart wasn't filled with fondness for Sue to begin with, but right about now I'm seriously starting to hate her guts.

"And why are you telling _me _this?"

He blinks and then turns to look at me with wide eyes. "We were hoping… I was hoping that you might talk some sense into her before—"

"Before what? Before you stop sending her money?" I'm flabbergasted by his suggestion. While I can see Charlie's point of no longer wanting to support his ex-wife, getting _me _involved seems like a selfish and dumb idea to boot. "What do you want me to do? She's my mother, you know?"

"You're right." He sighs loudly and keeps mum.

"I am," I tell him and get out of the car. I hoof up the stairs, boiling mad.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading. <strong>


	33. Chapter 33

**iambeagle is sweet & pretty. She searched for typos & made sure this is easier to follow. I owe her :)**

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><p><strong>33. Friday, February 17, 2012, around noon.<strong>

_At work._

Heidi's at a book convention in Chicago and by some miracle has forgotten to hand me a lists of pesky things to do in her absence—like sorting bills or picking up dry cleaning and dropping it off her house—leaving me with ample time to rummage through her closet again.

After flipping through a boring historical fiction novel (with a hint of incest) and two self-help books (happiness is internal, never external), I'm tempted to close the door to the closet and wave the white flag for the day, when I get a text from Edward.

_So what's the wicked witch from the east up to today? _

I've shared some of the lowlights of working for Heidi with him and the teasing hasn't stopped since.

_Not in today_, I type, a little annoyed. Being told how horrible your job is by someone who makes a living serving coffee and teaching rich kids to play the piano—his newly acquired part-time gig—seems wrong.

_I'm in Midtown. Lunch? _

Part of me wants to tell him '_No, I'm busy_.' Of course, I don't. I'd only end up sitting alone in the office, thinking about what I'm missing.

When I rush down to the lobby to meet Edward in front of the building, I find him inside chatting and laughing loudly with one of the security guards. It's not an unusual display. He's seems to be the super social type with complete strangers. In contrast, whenI ask him random, harmless things about himself, he's oddly tight lipped. Two days ago, for example, I asked the innocuous question what one does after graduating with a double major in biology and chemistry. In response, he very nearly jumped off the bed and then replied with, "Nothing much. I think I'm hungry. Do you wanna order in?"

He's generally not a Chatty Cathy, but nothing quite makes him as quiet as a clam as the subject of what he's done post college graduation. As a result, his more recent past is a blank sheet of paper. There's been some sinister speculation by Alice and Rose, over joints, ice cream and Baileys, on what exactly Edward was up before he moved to New York. Rose's money initially was on a stint in rehab.

_"I don't know…" I mulled over her guess for a minute, inhaling deeply. "Doesn't really make sense. He doesn't seem the type."_

_"What exactly would that type be?" Alice interjected. "At least it would sort of explain why he had such a meltdown about Jasper's business."_

_I shook my head immediately. "No obsessive compulsive tendencies. It just doesn't fit. Plus, he drinks and what Jasper told you about their roommate kind of made more sense."_

_"Well, I'm not sure that means anything," Rose countered. "Alcohol may not be his poison."_

_"Jail?" Alice suggested with wide eyes._

_"Nuh-uh. Nobody in their right mind would let someone with a record give their kids piano lessons. Forget about that one," Rose dismissed Alice's idea. _

_"Maybe he got dumped by the love of his life, and now is desperately trying to forget?" Alice suggested with a melodramatic tone to her voice._

_I was trying to imagine the girl who might have wronged him, wondering what she looked like, and irrationally started feeling jealous. Unwilling to contemplate the idea that Edward might be emotionally damaged goods—possibly at the hands of someone prettier and more successful than me—I shook my head. "Guys his age don't have meaningful relationships. I doubt an ex would send him into a tailspin. And I swear, the way he clams up when you touch the subject, it has to have been something worse."_

_"Just because you have the emotional maturity of a twelve year old, doesn't mean he's like that," Rose commented._

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"Oh, come on, B. You haven't dated any guy longer than two months since freshman year."_

_"Maybe that's because I haven't met anybody interesting enough to make me want to commit more time?"_

_"Bullshit," Rose called out._

_"Yeah, you liked Garrett," Alice commented. I cringed._

_Garrett and I started dating right after I graduated college. He was tall and dark and five years older than me, which back then seemed like ten. The fact that he was a lawyer, working 24/7, only added to him seeming way more mature than I felt. The irony of his perfection strikes me now. _

_"He moved to L.A."_

_"Yeah, true. But we all know you dumped his ass right after that dinner. Way before he moved." Alice shot me knowing look. Of course, I remember. The dinner at an Italian restaurant. Awkward and forced. The waiter carded me. His hushed confession after the tiramisu came completely out of left field. In shock and feeling ill-equipped to deal with a guy who claimed to be in love with me, I stopped picking up the phone whenever he called. _

_"I guess I didn't like him enough."_

_"Never mind. Who cares? Garrett … he's so last season. I like the new guy better. Easier on the eyes, definitely. So what could he be hiding in his closet?" Alice wondered aloud, but none of us could come up with another a halfway plausible explanation._

I still don't have one.

"Hey!" I interrupt Edward, who's having a lively conversation in Spanish. I didn't even know he spoke Spanish.

"Ready?" He greets me with a kiss and shakes hands with his new buddy before we walk out.

"So, why don't you just ditch the office for the rest of the day?" he asks, biting into his turkey burger ten minutes later. "It's not like she'd know."

"She usually calls the office around 4:55 to check in. It'd be stupid."

"What are you gonna do for the rest of the afternoon? Read romance novels?" A satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he licks some ketchup off them with a flick of his tongue.

"Maybe." I shrug my shoulders. "Found a manuscript I actually liked today. So yeah…" It's a lie, but admitting that the pickings ranged from cheesy to utterly poor would just be humiliating.

"Yeah? What's it about?"

"It's a story about a shrink whose clients are mostly wealthy scions. One of them confesses to murdering several people during his sessions. I think the subject matter definitely has potential," I lie again, remembering a book review I've recently read.

"You can read it later. Come on." He taps my foot with his and bites his lips. "You know you want to."

"Not everybody can charm their way into a new job," I point out.

"Now you're just putting a new spin on how to be a wet blanket."

"Shut up."

He grins.

"She's not going to find out. Where exactly is she anyway?" He knows he's got me.

"Chicago."

"I have an idea." Edward picks up the tab and drags me out of the place.

In my office, he pushes some buttons on the old landline phone, placing all incoming calls on call-forward to my cellphone.

"Problem solved."

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><p><strong>Sorry for the delay in updating. I promise I'll be better about it now that I finished watching all five seasons of Mad Men.<strong>

**Thank you!**


	34. Chapter 34

**the sweet & charming iambeagle searched for typos. **

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><p><strong>34. Friday, February 17, 2012 around 1:30.<strong>

_At the office_

A quick kiss turns into more at the office on my desk with a manuscript wedged into my lower back, until a guy in a brown ensemble knocks on the door. I drop the delivery off on Heidi's desk, and we end up heading to my apartment.

"What's up?" I greet Emmett who's standing with five pooches on leashes in front of the building.

"Hey, B," he mumbles, looking at this brood and then bending down to pet one that's barking loudly.

"How long has this been going on?" Edward asks immediately before I get to introduce him.

"Huh? What?" Emmett looks at him with brows furrowed in confusion, patting the barking pug on the head, until it dawns on him. "Oh! You mean the odd barking?"

"I don't think he's barking." Edward drops to his knees and starts inspecting the dog in an oddly familiar fashion. It's yet another thing I never knew about him: apparently, he likes dogs. Small, fat ones even. "Sounds like kennel cough to me. You'll need to separate him from the other dogs."

"Are you sure? I think all the dogs I usually take have been vaccinated."

Edward shakes his head. "They can get it even if they're vaccinated. I used to work for a vet. I'm pretty certain."

"Shit."

"Sorry, man."

"No, it's okay. Thanks." He pauses. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Edward."

"Ok. Thanks, Ed." Emmett pick up his phone, and I drag Edward inside.

"So, when did you work for a vet?" I open the door as he presses kisses along my neck, pulling my back against his chest. "Hey!" I interrupt him when he won't answer.

"A while ago," he says between distracting kisses, as we enter the apartment.

"What did you do there?"

"Clean the place. Weigh animals. Scruff them." I hear him grumble while his fingers start unhinging my bra.

"Can you stop it, please?" His games are starting to feel like old hat.

"Why?" His hand is slipping down my pants.

"Seriously?"

Finally stepping back, folding his arms across his chest, he stares at me with a peeved expression his face. "What's wrong now? You need to check in at work?"

"Where…" I fumble, unsure how to respond. "Where does this even come from? Just because I want to talk for a minute?"

"Oh, come on. You're always checking your BlackBerry every five minutes, like you're afraid you're missing something."

I know he's exaggerating. Still, his comment bothers me.

"I'm not checking my phone _now_, and that's not what this is about." I gesture quite idiotically between us.

"What is it then?" he asks me with an eyeroll that sort of suggests he's not really interested in the answer.

"What's wrong with you? I feel like I don't know you at all, and every time I ask you something, you avoid volunteering any information about yourself."

He huffs and walks away into the kitchen where he slumps down on a chair. I follow him, sitting down across from him. Neither of us is willing to make the first move, so we both stay silent. I'm better at this game than Edward is it turns out. After only five minutes, he sighs loudly and then starts talking.

"My dad's a vet. I went to school for it. Dropped out mid-semester last year. Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Why didn't you tell me? I don't understand why you had to make such a big secret about it?" I stare at him, while he's raking his hands through his hair.

"Because," he starts, but then doesn't continue. "I just sort of quit and left. My parents still don't talk to me because of it. My dad thinks I'm crazy and my mom is worried that I'm screwing up my life."

"What happened? Why did you quit? You didn't like it anymore?"

One of his shoulders moves up. "That's not really it. I just… it felt like my life was becoming stagnant. Like it was all mapped out and there was no room for any experimentation. College, vet school, same girlfriend for six years. One morning, I woke up and saw my life flash before my eyes. Let's just say, I was bored to tears watching. Then stuff sort of happened."

"Like what?"

"It was my last year before rotations. My father was starting to talk about when I could join his practice. Jess, my girlfriend, started hinting at wanting kids and getting hitched, and my mom started looking at houses on the market..." He sighs, before his lips twitch up into humorless a half grin.

I smile, more to myself than at anything he says, and glance at the now blank refrigerator door. Alice wiped the incriminating evidence of our plan of attack off before Jasper came over one night.

"So, you woke up and…"

"Broke up with Jess." He cringes.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I know this makes me sound like a jackass, but she was… awful, really."

"Why were you with her then?"

"I'm aware that this is going to make me sound like a douche, but in the interest of full disclosure… " He stops, shakes his head and chuckles. "Because it was easy, okay? She was cute and on a mission. So nodding and going along seemed easier. We started dating in high school," he admits, his cheeks turning pink.

"I see," I tell him, though I'm pretty certain I don't at all. Relationships never seemed easy and walking out seemed way easier.

"Anyway. Eli had been getting on my nerves about playing more gigs with them, so I did. And then we got a call to play here. It seemed like a good opportunity. We decided to stay after our gig. Jasper had offered me his place to crash. I withdrew from school a week later."

"Wow." Unsure of what else to say, I get up and grab a wine bottle and a glass off the kitchen counter. "You want some? I think there's beer, too."

"That bad, huh?"

"No. Not bad. Impulsive maybe?" I laugh, handing him a beer. "Rose thought you did a stint in rehab," I burst out.

"Why?"

"Because you never wanted to talk about anything you did since college, so we assumed..."

He shakes his head. "Was it that obvious?"

"Um, yeah?" He nods. "I think I get why you did it. I mean, you're really good… the band, but mostly it's you."

"Thanks," he mumbles, staring intently at the brown bottle between his hands. "It's just…"

"Do you regret it?"

His eyes flick up to meet mine. "No. I miss school sometimes. But I don't miss my life back home."

A knock on the door interrupts us. In front of it, I find Emmett with the coughing pug under his arm.

"Sorry to bother you. But do you mind looking after Godfried until his owner can pick him up?"

"I don't know about that." The dog wiggles and Emmett drops it gingerly on the floor in front of him.

"Please? I have to take care of three other dogs. I can't drop him off yet, and I can't take him along on the walk either."

"Fine." I step aside and the pug wastes no time, rushing inside.

I want to ask more questions. About all of it. The ex-girlfriend, his parents and why they stopped talking. Unfortunately, Godfried pukes every five minutes and then my BlackBerry starts ringing. When I check the number, I see that the call appears to come from the office.

"Volturi Literary Agency," I answer, closing the kitchen door with the coughing dog in it.

"Where exactly are you?" Heidi's voice echos in my ear and panic floods me. I booked her flight, so I know she's not supposed to be back in New York until ten-thirty tonight. But if I pretend I'm at the office and she's for some strange reason back there already, which it sounds like she could be, I'll be toast for sure.

"Um, I had a doctor's appointment and left early. I thought I'd make up for it on Monday."

An exasperated sigh follows. "Please keep me informed going forward if you need to close the office early. I think I'm a perfectly reasonable and understanding person, so there's no need to worry."

I exhale, feeling relieved. For now. Heidi is a lot of things, but reasonable and understanding she's not.

"Okay. Have a safe flight home. I'll see you tomorrow," I say, curious about her response.

"Don't be an idiot," she snaps back. "I took an early flight back. I'm at the office."

"Oh." I pause. "Okay then. See you tomorrow."

"Who was that?" Edward asks when he sees me returning to the kitchen.

"Why?"

"'Cause you look like you've seen a ghost," he tells me with a smirk on his face, petting the pug who's resting on his lap with drool dripping onto his pants.

"Heidi."

"Oh, shit!" he says, but he's laughing as if it's the funniest thing ever.

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><p><strong>Cheers. <strong>


	35. Chapter 35

**iambeagle checked for typos.**

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><p><strong>35. Sunday, February 19, 2012. Around 6:30 PM<strong>

_At Home._

"Is he gone?" Rose asks, a condescending tinge to her tone, while standing in the bathroom door clutching a towel around her otherwise bare middle.

"Who?" I stare at her from the corner of my eye as she waits there for my response, one eyebrow quickly rising. Since this morning Rose has been giving me the silent treatment—a barely there gesture or a clipped answer whenever I tried talking to her.

"Don't be so fucking dense." She sighs in exasperation. I have an inkling who she's asking about, but I hate that tone in her voice.

"Yeah. He went to work a while ago," I tell her.

"Great." She drops the towel ostentatiously down to her hips, baring her chest as she walks into the bedroom. Running around naked has never been her thing before; a sign of protest rather than a preference. "Is he coming back again?" she starts back up while rummaging around the dresser.

"Why?" I shrug. "Alice already said she's not coming home tonight, so we're just going to stay in her room."

Rose huffs, securing the bra straps over her shoulders. "That's not the point."

"What is the point then?" Rose's grumpiness is grating and, right now, more unsettling than Heidi's list of menial tasks.

She turns to me from her spot in front of the dresser. "Are you serious? I have like no privacy when he's around," she spits at me, before going back to search through the drawer. Edward hasn't spent that many nights here, so I think her annoyance is out of proportion.

"Newsflash, no one has any privacy in this apartment." I reach my hands out to easily touch both sides of the bedroom wall.

"Which is why I didn't move in with a random guy!" Her voice is getting shriller as she slams one drawer shut and pulls out another, one that's incidentally dedicated to my stuff.

"Oh, come on! Don't you think you're being a little hypocritical here? I mean, when you were dating Roysten, he lived here for weeks at a time. I freaking washed his dirty underwear." It was a pair of red boxer shorts with mini reindeers on them. "And besides, what do you want me to do about it? Do you want me to break up with him?"

"Don't be such a fucking drama queen, Bella. Of course not. It's not the point." Leaving the draw open, the stalks to the closet. "And Roy only stayed here because he lived on Long Island and taking the train back was sometimes impossible."

"I'm not sure this is all that different. Edward lives at the ass end of Brooklyn. So what's my option then?"

"It wouldn't kill you to at least spend _some_ nights there. Give his roommates a show for once." Rose taps her fingers along the edge of the closet and then grabs the black dress I wore for New Year's with the torn zipper. "Can I borrow this?"

"The zipper is broken. And I don't know what you're talking about. It's not like we're screwing on the kitchen floor." She inspects the dress, pulls out an extra zipper from her drawer and then props her hand on her hip and fixes her gaze on me.

"Let's just say you're not as quiet as you think you are," she says and stomps off to Alice's room, presumably to sew in a new zipper. "And he fucking grunts _all _the time."

"Says the person who gives instructions loudly while at it." Alice and I once listened for two hours of lessons on how to hit the right spot.

Curious about what's making Rose pull out her sewing machine on a late Sunday afternoon in a hurry to fix my old dress, I follow her. "Where are you going anyway?" I ask, while she's neatly pulling the thread of the old zipper out.

"Out."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Don't just stand there and stare. Can you search for some black yarn in that box?" She points to one of Alice's plastic boxes filled with fabric, different rolls of yarn, and needles.

"It's dinner. With a guy."

I hand Rose a roll of black thread. "And? What's the big secret?"

"No secret," she mumbles, dropping the role onto the spool pin.

"Do I know the guy?"

"Yeah, you met him." Her brows are furrowed in concentration as she adjusts the thread and then starts sewing. The machine is too noisy, so I wait until she's done with my follow up question.

"So who is it?" I ask as soon as the sound of the machine fades.

"Remember the doctor at the clinic?"

I start laughing. "You're going out with him? He's at least twenty years older than you. Gross." I laugh, but Rose doesn't join in. "Why? I mean, don't you think you're taking our rules there a little too far? You know you're just going out with him because he obviously has a career."

"That's not it. I can't believe you'd actually say this to me," she says, letting the dress slip from her hands. "After all, you went out with a bulimic who didn't even touch you just because he paid for dinner." I'm too angry to respond and then Rose continues quickly. "At least Carlisle is nice and smart and definitely has no intimacy issues." With a determined look on her face, she lifts the dress from the floor.

"Carlisle? His _name_ even sounds like he's your grandpa." The sound of the sewing machine stops me in my tracks again. "So what, he asked you out during a follow up visit and then made out with you in his white coat?" I half laugh at the thought. Rose sitting on a cold examining table while he suggests dinner for two.

"Yeah." She shrugs her shoulders, bites the yarn off and pulls on the dress, which incidentally fits her much better than it did me the last time I wore it. I stare at her. "So what?"

"Don't you think that's kind of… I don't know, unethical?"

"Who cares? It's not like I didn't want him to ask me," she says and leaves for the bathroom.

"How do I look?" Rose asks ten minutes later, pulling on her coat.

"Lovely," I tell her, rolling my eyes and turning on the TV.

Edward shows up thirty minutes later with a bag of Thai food in hand.

"Hey," he starts, when we sit stuffed on the bed watching TV. "I have a shift tomorrow morning. Do you mind if I stay the night? I might quit the job soon, if I get some more clients for piano lessons, but until then ..."

I don't even hesitate when I reply, "Sure. No problem at all."

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><p><strong>Sorry for the long delay. I promise I will finish this shit. :) Thanks for reading. <strong>


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